


Dysfunctional Everafter

by Bookerbeth



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Secrets, Incest, Roleplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookerbeth/pseuds/Bookerbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth chose not to drown Booker at the end of Infinite. Instead they live together, trying to adapt to their new-found roles as father and daughter, but that's easier said than done. <strong>{</strong>In depth story and character interaction co-authored in the form of role play from both Elizabeth & Booker's perspectives.<strong>}</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summertime Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> Tensions run high and tempers flare in the DeWitt household as Booker & Elizabeth struggle to adjust to normal everyday life while dealing with the substantial psychological damage their escape from Columbia and personal choices have caused them. 
> 
> **Trigger Warning! PTSD, Depression, Self-harm, Domestic Violence**  
>  IMPORTANT!! 
> 
> ***Considering the extravagant amount of violence that occurs in game at the hands of these two complex characters, and the horrific reality of their past _realistically_ Booker  & Elizabeth are not going to initially have healthy avenues for dealing with stress and communicating with each other. That being said, this chapter elaborately illustrates what can _possibly_ happen when repressed deep seated emotional trauma finally causes an outward psychological break manifesting itself into destructive behavior. I do **not** promote any of the highly questionable behavior you see in this chapter, it is prime example of how _not_ to act. If heavy content like this is triggering for you, please do not read.***

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth brought the large knife down with a hard decisive cut. The ripe red tomato beneath her left hand made a soft squishing noise beneath the razor sharp edge of the blade. She moved the slice off to the side of her cutting board before bringing it down again to shave off yet another slice; _red_ the color of passion, the color of blood. Red as the rose bush she insisted on planting outside their kitchen window, red as the ribbon at her pale throat, red as her gauzy tea dress that she made with muslin and lace that draped her petite form like a crimson wisp. It was drawn tight at her small waist with a little belt made of the same material, the loose sleeves ended at the tender curve of her elbow, the detailing was simple. Most of the lacey embroidery was at the lower half of the garment, sleeves, and bust. She endured the heat and was wearing her corset today because of the transparency of the dress. The sheer chemise as part of her undergarments that she had on wouldn’t properly conceal the indecent parts of her body. Today was the first time she decided to wear it having only finished sewing it the day before. When she had come downstairs for some breakfast Booker had made no comment on it, which was typical. He never had anything to say about whatever she wore. But, he did seem uncomfortable if she was in any state of undress though. So, despite the unbearable heat and her comfort she wore her corset. He never made any comment to her, but one time when she came out from the bathroom fresh from a shower wearing only a towel and bumped into him, walking straight into his chest Booker had seized up like he was paralyzed. Elizabeth had the towel tied around her body securely so it stayed in place. She had laughed, rubbing the tip of her nose, sore from smashing it into Booker’s sternum. There was no harm done, but he backed away from her almost as if she had burned him with Devil’s Kiss. “Jesus Christ Booker…I’ve been watched, poked, and prodded, for my entire life, do you think I _really_ care if you see me naked. Relax.” That’s what she told the tall man, as she glided past him retreating into her bedroom to dress. 

_”Kiss me hard before you go. Summertime sadness. I just wanted you to know. That, baby, you're the best.”_

Elizabeth had the radio on as usual, enjoying the anticipation she’d feel at not knowing what kind of music would be spilling out of it due to her tear powers. As a result the range of what they heard was quite eclectic, but now she barely registered the sound at all. She only had ears for the repetition of her knife sinking into the wood of her cutting board, staring at the juice and seeds that squished out from the fruit. Elizabeth had been obsessing over the color red, and not just in her clothing, in what she ate; tomatoes, strawberries, potatoes, apples, raspberries, cranberries, peppers, grapes, and cherries. Those usually were the first to be consumed. Elizabeth always ate some sort of fruit with her meals and she tended to favor the cherries. But…no matter what she put in her body, what she wore, surrounding her field of vision with shades of red in flowers, in paint, none of it helped. _“I got my red dress on tonight. Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight….High heels off, I'm feeling alive,”_ the woman on the radio sang. But, she wasn’t alive. She still felt empty inside. Elizabeth used to think that pain was the worst experience a person could go through. That wasn’t true. It was the empty shell that was left once it was done with you. The only expression of emotion that ever felt real or genuine anymore was anger. Maybe that’s why she constantly picked fights with Booker and bickered with him over the most trivial things, trying to find… _something._ Elizabeth didn’t even know, she mostly went through the motions these days, she was as safe as could be, free, and she could take the two of them anywhere they felt like going. 

And yet they chose to nest.

They set up a little home for themselves in the New York country side; having their cake and being able to eat it too so to speak. The two of them had melted down their left over Silver Eagles from Columbia, and exchanged the raw silver for the capitol needed to purchase a home. The place felt safe and welcoming, Elizabeth adored their little house in the country surrounded by green hills, but only because Booker’s presence made it so. The nightmare was over. Columbia and Comstock were dust beneath her heel. So, why did she have this gaping hole in her chest? Why did she feel so dead inside? 

_“I've got that summertime, summertime sadness. S-s-summertime, summertime sadness. Got that summertime, summertime sadness. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.”_ She wasn’t even hungry, but she stood in the kitchen chopping tomatoes as if in a trance just to hear the sound of the knife bite into the wood. Elizabeth stared out the window not watching at all what she was doing, the big knife precariously edging closer and closer to her hand. 

**Booker DeWitt::** Plaf! Booker whacked his garden hoe down into the ground, sharp metal surface forcefully sliding into the ground. He pulled it towards him, dragging the ground along with it. Plaf! The ground took another hit. The man had decided to add another part to his little yard, preparing the soil. The yard was relatively big, took a decent amount of work to maintain, but Booker only took on more work by adding another piece to it. More work, but also more place to grow food. Plaf! More food was always good, means they didn't have to buy it, but that was not the main reason he did it. Mostly he did it just to keep himself occupied. He had to do something. He had trouble sitting still. It wasn't like it used to be. He wasn't wallowing for years on end in his neglected office. He still drank, but not as much as he needed to be in a constant state of numbness. And because of that he felt restless a lot nowadays. He wasn't fighting and fleeing like in Columbia. He didn't have any brawls, no need to fight claw and teeth to get out of that place alive. And, in a weird way, he missed that. He had to put his body to work in different ways now. Keep himself busy. Provide himself physical labor in whatever way, shape or form. Plaf! It was terribly warm out today, sun shining down on Booker's partially exposed body. He wore an old pair of trousers and a light tank top. His muscles bulged as he handled the garden hoe, raising it and bringing it down with great force. Excessive force. As if he where bashing someone's skull in. 

Plaf! He wiped the sweat from his brow, the scar on his right hand getting damper because of it. Things had been alright since they got out of Columbia. God knows they had emotional trauma that would never fully heal, but all things considered they were okay. They'd managed to get their hands on a little house in the countryside. Booker did quite some chores around the house, improving what they had, adding to their comfort. Another form of keeping himself busy. Initially Booker had to get used to the silence. Having lived in the bustling city New York had made this place seem eerily silent at first in comparison. Though, it was not as quiet as his office had been, and that thought comforted him somehow. He wasn't alone anymore. He had Elizabeth now. They had struggled and fought for their freedom, and now they had it in abundance. It had been worth the fight. With Booker having lived by his lonesome self for so long, and Elizabeth who'd been alone her whole life, they had to get used to sharing a house. They weren't entirely tuned into each other. They lived in the same house, but in a sense they still lived alone. They both did their own stuff in their own time, but they took each other's wishes into consideration. What would you like to eat today? Want some new shelves in your room? Want to go to the city today? They bickered more than they got along. Afterwards Booker couldn't even remember what they'd been fighting about. They just rubbed each other the wrong way. They still had to figure out a lot. Privacy was something that needed to be worked on, for one thing. Elizabeth never really seemed to mind when she was in some state of undress, trotting around the hall in nothing but a towel, like it was a normal thing to be partially undressed like that. Smart as she was; she lacked some social boundaries. Which was completely understandable since she had grown up so isolated, nothing but her books teaching her social limits. Booker didn't like it one bit. It made him downright uncomfortable to see her like that. It wasn't because he was prude, hell, Booker was _anything_ but prude. It was just the knowledge that it was his own _daughter_ that he would see naked that made him downright uncomfortable. He didn't say anything of it, not wanting to acknowledge it was a problem for him. He didn't want to say it out loud. He figured she would pick up on the message in time. She'd be observant enough for that, right? Hopefully. She didn't give a shit if he saw her naked, but _he_ did. 

Booker kept plowing through the soil some more, dirt flying around with the pace he took on. Eventually though, he decided it'd be enough for today. With a small sigh he planted the garden hoe in the ground, looking at the work he had done today. Decent enough. Soon he'd be able to plant some more plants here. He wiped his dirty hands on his already smudged tank top. Man, he was hungry...Maybe Elizabeth was already working on dinner. He silently hoped she was, stilling his hunger. He rolled his shoulders, and trudged back inside. He pushed off his shoes, not wanting too much dirt to get into the house. He strolled over to the kitchen, checking if she was there or not.

**Elizabeth::** _”Oh, my God, I feel it in the air. Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare. Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere. Nothing scares me anymore…Kiss me hard before you go. Summertime sadness. I just wanted you to know. That, baby, you're the best…”_

The song continued on and on as Elizabeth continued to chop her tomatoes. Heat pooled into the palm of her hand, stinging, the flesh peeling open in a long line. Blood flowed and Elizabeth uttered not a sound. She sliced her hand open because she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. Eventually she gazed downwards feeling the wetness trickling over her palm. Elizabeth watched herself bleed with disconnected detachment. Huh…she hadn’t even noticed. She reached for a second tomato and began to cut that up as well, not even caring that she was bleeding. In fact it only made her bring the knife down with more force than before. Why couldn’t she feel _anything_? How deep did she have to dig in order to feel pain again? What was the point if she barely felt alive? Elizabeth brought the knife down, slice, squish. Is it her flesh or the fruit? She didn’t know and didn’t care. Elizabeth didn’t even notice when Booker came into the kitchen, her gaze steadily fixed ahead at a point that even she couldn’t see. The sun cast red and golden highlights in her bobbed brown hair and her hands were as red as the tomatoes she was cutting, her blood saturated the cutting board, streaming down and between the webbing of her slender fingers. _“I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere. Nothing scares me anymore…Kiss me hard before you go.”_

**Booker DeWitt::** Not suspecting a thing Booker entered the kitchen, glancing at her form enveloped by the red dress. He scratched the side of his cheek lightly, curiously walking over to her to see what she was cooking up. He smelled a scent that was oh so familiar for him as he got closer. What the-- He told himself it was just his paranoia as he quickly walked closer, just a vivid memory. But it wasn't. The smell of blood was real, and he found that out as he saw the cutting board. He glanced up at Elizabeth, demanding some sort of explanation for this. It wasn't just a small cut by accident. She was cutting her own flesh on purpose, mutilating herself, bleeding herself out, looking straight ahead as if she didn't even feel it. He was repulsed by the sight of the blood running along her hand, mixing with the juice of the tomatoes. 

What the _fuck_ was she thinking!? 

Pure fury made itself master of Booker, his body tensing. He grabbed her by the wrist that held the knife, pulling it away from her, but she did not let go of it. She just stared as if in trance, as if she didn't even feel his tight grip on her. He angrily grabbed her other wrist, moving over and slamming her against the wall as he kept holding onto her in an attempt to get her to drop the knife. Booker was suffering from a fit of rage as she still did not let go of the knife. He twisted her wrist, too forcibly, not taking his own strength into account, and made her drop the bloody knife which ended up at the floor with a 'clang'. It was a sickening sight to see her own blood trickling down on the hand that held her wrist. "The hell, Elizabeth!" He shouted angrily, pressing her against the wall with his body, physically aggressive. "What the fuck is wrong with you!?" How could she _do_ that to herself? After all they fought for. All the trauma they had endured. All that they had been through together. She just wanted to fucking kill herself!? Goddamn he was so _angry..._

**Elizabeth::** She was moving, spinning, her spine slammed into the wall. Elizabeth didn’t feel it. When Booker twisted her wrist Elizabeth felt that, her hand immediately opening on reflex. _“I’m feeling electric tonight…”_ the woman sang. Booker channeled rage into her body, and Elizabeth felt like she was a numb block of ice. Her non-responsiveness making him even angrier, it was almost like he wasn’t even there. Booker slammed her against the wall again, trying to get her to snap out of whatever it was that made her no different than a doll. Only when his face was mere inches away from her face shouting so close that she could feel his words on her lips did the numb trance begin to fade. Elizabeth could _taste_ his anger, his hands enclosed her wrists like iron manacles, and his entire body was pressed into hers. Her hands burned, but the shape of his heavy masculine form molding into her slender one trigged an instinctive response. It felt as if her body was absorbing information, memorizing the broad hard muscles in his chest pressed into her breasts so hard her nipples hurt. The bones of his narrow hips met her broader pelvis. Information for what, her mind was too overwhelmed to put those pieces together, but the sharp awareness of how _extremely_ different their bodies were ingrained itself into Elizabeth’s subconsciousness. The hazy glazed over look gradually faded from her eyes as Elizabeth slowly came back to herself. To her delight, Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, a tingling rush of adrenaline jolted through her body. Blood flowed over Booker’s hand. Pain…thank God. The ashen appearance that her skin had taken on changed, her pale skin flushed pink in certain spots. She blinked several times almost like waking up from a coma. Elizabeth stared at Booker, captivated by his fierce green eyes. “I…can’t cry anymore, Booker.” She spoke softly, the warmth of her breath hitting the soft skin of his lips. Huh, curious that Elizabeth would assume his lips to be soft, surrounded by all that bristly stubble.

**Booker DeWitt::** Booker felt relieved when she finally seemed to get some of her senses back. She no longer stared at nothingness, but she looked at _him_. She acknowledged his presence, finally snapping out of whatever train of thought she was having. This cooled down Booker's anger a bit, to know that he could at least get through to her somehow. His heart raced in anger, scowl on his face, mere inches away from hers, finally having those blue eyes look at him. Don't look anywhere else. Just look at me. Tell me what the hell you're thinking. He kept her in place, not letting her go off the hook, body pressing her up against the wall in instinctive anger. "I ain't asking you to goddamn cry!" He yelled right in her face, trembling in anger, pulling her wrists slightly from the wall only to roughly pin them down again, creating a thud of flesh and bones crashing against wood. He was infuriated, creating a sharp contrast with Elizabeth's calm behavior. "Why the _fuck_ would you do that!?" He pressed into her, as if that would force an answer out of her. Why would she do that to herself? Why would she do that to _him_? He lowered his voice, growling, wild eyes fixed upon her. "You tell me right now, Elizabeth..."

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth felt pain ricocheting through her small body as Booker forcefully pinned her to the wall. Finally she was feeling _alive_ and not like an empty shell. He yelled at her furiously, but Elizabeth didn’t flinch even though her heart kept racing faster and faster the longer they lingered in each other’s personal space. They had shared the same bed often in Columbia for warmth and safety reasons, even now it wasn’t a uncommon sight to wake up in the morning to see the other curled at their back. But that was a different sort of closeness, it was calm and reassuring resting back to back. This…this…was overwhelming; the intensity in Booker’s voice, eyes gone feral, but mostly how their bodies were pressed together front to front. Even though they were emotionally cemented together they never really shared too much physical contact, it just didn’t happen. But, now with his body smashed into hers, even though he was hurting her, Elizabeth felt rather intoxicated by the curious sensation of it. Why? Why would she mutilate herself and not give a damn? “Because I can’t _feel_ anything anymore,” Elizabeth answered him sharply her eyebrows knitting together the tone in her voice a touch defensive.

**Booker DeWitt::** Well _fuck that_!" Was Booker's angry response, almost spitting at her face. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. "Then you _learn_ to feel! I didn't drag your ass out of that tower only for you to kill yourself!" Booker was beyond being reasonable, anger pulling his strings. It was confronting to see her like this. She did what Booker had considering so many times in those twenty lonely years. He hadn't felt. He hadn't lived. He barely even _existed_ , stuck in self-destructive circle of booze and isolation. He wasn't gonna let her do that to herself. No way in hell. " _Make_ yourself feel, whatever it takes! Just don't go as far as to mutilate yourself for fuck's sake! Find something else!" He let go of her wrists, angrily slamming the wall they leaned against before he backed off and turned his back to her. His shoulders were tense, his bloody palm covering his face. He was breathing heavily, closing his eyes. Alright just...calm down. Deep breath. _Slow_ deep breath. He was trembling, visibly upset. Upset and angry. Why the hell would she do that...The stench of blood infiltrated his nostrils, making it hard for him to focus.

**Elizabeth::** Booker continued to badger her, anger driving him and pushing him to the edge. _Make_ herself feel. Hmmf. He slammed his fists against the wall in frustration before backing off, and giving her his back. Elizabeth let her arms fall loosely to her sides but, didn’t move away from the wall. “Make myself feel…right. Well…apparently you don’t know what feelings are. They aren’t some trivial things that you can just turn on and off like a switch, that’s _why_ there emotions. And if there was something that I could do to make this…” Elizabeth paused for a moment. “This horrible numbness go away, don’t you think I would have fucking done it already?” She spat her voice harsh. “Believe it or not, I’m _not_ trying to die, I’m trying to fucking live. If I wanted to end my life, I’d put a bullet in my head.” Elizabeth stated bluntly.

**Booker DeWitt::** Something snapped in Booker. Booker wasn't quite the role model for feeling. Never had been, never would be. Anger and lust were the most prominent emotions he had. Elizabeth put her finger on a sore spot for Booker by telling him he didn't even know what feelings were. In these past months he'd either been indifferent towards her in his own typical way, or he was bickering with Elizabeth. There was not much else. "Oh, you always think you _know_ everything, hm?" Booker said with a misplaced smirk as he glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Just because you haven't found a way to deal with it doesn't mean it's not there." He turned to her again, his smirk gone. "And hell we're gonna find something because I'm not gonna fucking let you cut up yourself, you hear me!?"

**Elizabeth::** “Sure we are.” Elizabeth gave him a little sarcastic smile lifting her eyebrows. “ I’ve only read over a hundred books, solved hundreds of codes and puzzles, and made us both two closets full of clothes. I’ve walked, I’ve run, I’ve listened to music, I’ve watched you garden and build things, filled two sketch books, and all those things that I know how to do just don’t cut it. My mind wonders… and I can do all those things in my sleep and not break a sweat. I look for pieces of myself but I don’t find them.” Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh. “If there is something that I can do that will take my full attention and keep me from going to dark places then it’s certainly not anything that _I_ know how to do. “ She told him resting her head against the wall. “I’m afraid that my emotional needs are more sophisticated than that, Booker. I am bored and I’m lonely. And if I can’t feel a God damn thing, then I am not living. And if my mind and my heart are dead, it’s just only a formality that my body hasn’t caught up with the rest of me.”

**Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth's sarcasm rubbed him the wrong way, only infuriating him more. Despite that he listened to her, or rather, registered her words. Her explanation made him desperately try to think of things to make her see things a different way, but she seemed so damn sure that there couldn't possibly anything else of interest for her. He couldn't help her. She was bored and lonely. It wasn't his fault, and not his responsibility either. It was her last sentence that pushed him too far. He swiped at the cutting board, slices of tomato mixed with blood flying across the kitchen, splattering against surfaces. It hurt him too much to hear her say that. Like she cut him instead of herself. Too confronting. He needed air. He needed to get out of here. Without saying anything more he stomped off. He needed to cool down. 

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth flinched when Booker knocked the cutting board to the floor, red splashes of tomato bits and drops of blood splattering everywhere like an abstract painting. The tall man turned on his heel and stormed off. She flinched again when she heard the door slam. Elizabeth looked down and saw streaks of red on her arm, the pale skin stained crimson. She sighed, and quietly moved over to the sink turning on the tap. Elizabeth washed her arm and cleaned her wound with soap and water, letting the cool water trickle over her red swollen skin. She stared off into space again, but it wasn’t the numb trance of earlier, her mind was racing like her heart. Elizabeth played their fight over and over again in her mind, dissecting it. Booker was entitled to his feelings just as well as she was entitled to hers. What else would she expect from him other than anger? Elizabeth turned the knob off, killing the stream of water that ran over her wound. With her head hanging down she went upstairs to their bathroom, opening a wooden cabinet that had towels but also strips of linen. She used them whenever it was her time to bleed, but they would work perfectly well as a bandage. Elizabeth wrapped the cloth around her hand, pulling it taunt and tying it off so it would stay in place. 

She glanced at her reflection briefly in the mirror and she wasn’t sure how she felt about what she saw there. Elizabeth had slowly started wilting from the inside, but how was Booker to know what she was feeling if she didn’t tell him? What did she want? She wanted a relationship with him, she wanted Booker DeWitt to realize he had more of an emotional range than being pissed off or indifferent. He was damaged goods too. Even though they weren’t running for their lives anymore like in Columbia, they were both trying to keep their heads above water in emotional mercury. How could they survive but without each other? In Columbia when she was tired, she told him so, when she was upset, she told him and he gradually opened up to her and they had more emotionally fulfilling conversations. He was multi-faceted just like another person, Booker was just cut with sharper edges and Elizabeth’s feelings towards him…they were complicated, but she wouldn’t want to be without him. It was them against the world, that hadn’t changed. What had changed was the fact that they weren’t communicating. If she was to keep her tenuous hold on sanity something had to be done. Elizabeth wasn’t sure what, but it wouldn’t do any good to carry on with her silence. How could he help her if she didn’t tell him what was going on with her?

She padded down the steps quietly on bare feet and returned to the kitchen. Elizabeth cleaned up the mess on the floor, tossing the mushy slices of tomato in the garbage, then she dabbed at the red splatter of blood with a cold sponge. She did what she could, but some of the stains had sunk into the fiber of the wood and would stay there. They’d probably fade with time. Once everything was cleaned up she took a deep breath, and smelled the fragrant roses from beneath the window. Elizabeth had only herself to blame for how things had deteriorated with her. She didn’t bother to slip on shoes as she stepped out into the bright, late summer sun. Elizabeth looked around for Booker, with her hand raised over her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. She saw him some distance away swimming in the small lake that was on the edge of their property. Her eyesight was razor sharp and she often had to look for him at great distances while he zipped around the skylines trying to find a better vantage point for them, so seeking him was ingrained into Elizabeth’s mind. She breathed in the fragrant air of wild flowers, grass, and dirt. Nice smells, pure smells, and Elizabeth walked down the steps of the back porch her toes curling around the blades of grass. She made quite a spectacle dressed all in red surrounded by so much green. Elizabeth walked through their yard with the sun beating down on her back, her throat was tight, and the closer Booker’s bare chested form came into view the more nervous she felt. The light glistening off his warm skin, the myriad of scars on his upper body stood even more pronounced surrounded by the golden tan that he had gained from being outside nearly every day. Elizabeth didn’t have her father’s skin. She didn’t tan, she burned, as she discovered painfully. So she was more careful these days to stick to the shade. A gust of wind blew her hair and dress back. Booker dove under as she reached the lip of the body of water. Elizabeth sat down on the warm grass, and dangled her feet over the side, the cool water flowing over the soft skin gave her goose bumps even in the heat, as she patiently waited for Booker to resurface so she could apologize.

**Booker DeWitt::** Booker stormed outside, an angry frown on his face. Now, normally with his face relaxed he already didn't seem like the happiest person on earth, but now it was downright intimidating. He went outside, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang. Screw all that. If she wanted it this way then _fine_ , she could have it! What the hell should he care? She wasn't his bloody business. Not anymore. He might be her dad and he might be her friend but like hell he had anything to say about how to live her life. She'd just have to figure it out by herself if that's what she wanted so badly! She didn't need him! For god's sake she already _knew_ everything didn't she!? What he said would never matter. Would not influence her. Would not make her see things in any other way. Would not help her. She didn't fucking need him for _anything_. She always knew best. He had nothing to offer her. 

In Columbia he'd been the one who knew everything, the one who knew how to survive and get out. Now he was some ignorant bastard in Elizabeth's eyes. She didn't take his word for things. Always questioned what he said. Normal chats somehow always seemed to escalate into hostile bickering lately, and he didn't like it one bit. How had he not known what was going on in her mind? Should he have seen it coming somehow? No, no way. He couldn't have. This was the first fucking time she had voiced anything of how empty she felt. She was cutting herself up and only _then_ did Booker know what kind of mental trouble she was in. He was just so angry... Booker took off his clothes as he walked, dropping them in a trail as he walked towards the lake. He was in nothing but his boxer shorts once he reached the edge of the lake. He just had to take a swim. Cool off. Tire out your own muscles. Be physically active to distract yourself from your thoughts. Lash out. And with that he dove into the little lake, letting the cold wash over him. 

Just swim. 

Full of rage Booker swam to the other side of the lake, crawling. He went as fast as he could, pushing and pulling himself through the water. The cold water quickly cooled him down, and his body got used to the temperature of it, and Booker found it comfortable. Warm muscles gliding through chilly water. He used more energy than he had to, to go fast, but that was kind of the point of venting steam. Eventually he reached the end of the lake, and he started to swim back, a little slower. He had had his biggest outburst of energy, making his body calmer. And as his body grew more compliant, so did his thoughts. Had he been too hard on her? He hadn't handled it well, that was for sure. ...Had he hurt her? Goddamn, of course he had. He had assaulted her, slamming her into the wall repeatedly, twisting her wrist painfully, who knew how far he had gone in his rage? He hadn't meant to...He had just wanted her to stop. That was all. 

There seemed to be no other way to get through to her, that's how he tried to justify his actions but he knew it was fucking wrong to hurt her like that. He hurt his own daughter. Selling her off wasn't enough, no, _clearly_ he also had to hurt her physically, right? What kind of a shit excuse for a father was he? Anger made place for an immense sense of guilt. They didn't communicate anymore, and when she did try to explain herself somewhat he had angrily stormed off, dismissing whatever it was that she had tried to tell him. He was so goddamn mad at her for doing that to herself. The worst part was that he understood it, in a way, having been there himself. Maybe that was what made it extra painful for him. Though, it wasn't exactly the same, the way in which they'd marked themselves. Elizabeth cut herself out of..out of what? Lack of feeling alive? Wanting to feel? Booker's self-inflicted mark had been made out of pure guilt. Back in his isolated office Booker had often considered putting a bullet through his head and just get it over with. But, he never had. It was just an option. Like she said, if the mind and heart were dead, the body just might as well be. That statement had been insulting for him. As if Booker was _supposed_ to be dead. As if he shouldn't be here this very moment. That he would have been better off if he did pay heed to that formality as she called it. She hadn't meant it that way, she didn't know, but it hurt Booker. Had he given in to that thought, then he wouldn't be here today. Despite everything he'd been through he had held onto a sliver of hope that it would turn out alright in the end. It was painful to see that she had lost that hope entirely. Goddammit... He saw her in the distance, walking over to the lake, not hard to be spotted in that bright red dress of hers. He dove under as he got closer to her, as if drowning out reality for a second. As if there was nothing wrong. Elizabeth would be fine. Hm...He better go over to her. He couldn't just ignore her until she'd go back inside. And so he swam over to her underwater, swimming in the lower cold layers of the lake, body gliding. He slowly resurfaced in front of her. Not too close to invade her personal space, but not too far to be out of talking range. He glanced at her with that ever present indifferent look, his hair dark sticking to his face.

**Elizabeth::** Booker emerged from the depths of the lake smoothly, rivulets of water running down his face and shoulders as he treaded water in front of her. Elizabeth’s lower legs dangled in the cool water, her skin slowly growing accustomed to it. She felt the heat of the sun beating down on her back and cleared her throat. “Booker, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. You’re not a mind reader, and I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you about all the things that I’m struggling with. I… guess it’s just a lot easier to recognize when you’re _physically_ hurting rather than emotionally hurting.” Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “We’re obviously in a lot better situation, and I probably just got it into my head that I should be right as rain too. And when I look back at all the shit that’s happened I realize that’s a ridiculous expectation to place on myself so soon.” 

She moved her feet back and forth in the water slowly making little waves. “So, I am telling you that I am _not_ okay. I literally feel like I am losing my mind. And I need you to help me because I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything that I already know how to do to keep myself occupied doesn’t help me because it doesn’t challenge me. Every time I try to focus on a task that I can normally do, my mind just…goes somewhere and well…” she raised her bandaged hand, “ you see what happens.” Elizabeth swallowed, her mouth feeling dry as she went on, but it was important that she continued. She needed Booker to hear her, she needed him to understand that she was _dying_ inside. “You’ve helped me survive, Booker…I need you to help me _live_. I don’t want to just watch you do things anymore, I…I want to do them with you…I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I just…” Elizabeth briefly pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand. “I just need you to… _engage_ me. I don’t think that’s too much to ask…you set yourself to tasks, I need the same, but I need to do things that I haven’t done before in order to keep my attention because…UGH.” She released exasperated sigh. “God damn it…I don’t know how to fucking communicate all the shit that’s in my head. It all makes sense at first, but when I try to talk I just sound like an idiot.” Elizabeth grumbled angrily, rolling her eyes in frustration.

**Booker DeWitt::** Booker listened to her, letting her speak her mind. Letting out what she had to tell him. First of all, she apologized to him for assuming he would have to notice her emotional needs somehow if she did not speak about them. Like she said, it was easier to notice visible wounds rather than mental ones. Booker had a nose for blood, not so much for unspoken thoughts. He'd been a detective, sure, but he couldn't just figure out what someone was thinking if they didn't show any signs. You couldn't detect without signs, and Elizabeth had shown nothing that could give away her inner turmoil. She talked of how her expectations had been unrealistic at this point in time, her goals not directly obtainable. The little waves she created by moving her feet subsided as they got further away from her, the mild remnants of it subtly hitting Booker's chest. She told him how it really was, how she needed him to help her through this, to stand there with her instead of opposite of her. Challenge her, distract her, engage her. Anything, really. Anything to keep her from going to that place in her mind where she seemed so unresponsive and self-destructive. She seemed frustrated with her own explanation, pinching the bridge of her nose, just like her father did at times. 

"...No, I get it." Booker finally spoke. He swam over to the edge, pushing himself out of the water with his strong arms, making himself sit next to her on the soft warm grass in one fluent motion. He wouldn't be opposite of her, he'd be next to her. A subconscious physical representation of his mental state. He didn't want to fight against her, he wanted to fight alongside her. "Alright, well..." He ran a hand over his face before he continued to speak. He let all this information sink in, trying to form it into a plan. A practical and concrete way to work on this. A way to help her. "So you'd like to do some more stuff together, right? To learn new things." He glanced at her from the side, his anger having ebbed away completely. He seemed willing to help her out. "We could do...I dunno. Do you know how to play cards?" He offered. "Or hell, did you ever learn to swim properly in a floating city?" He suggested, more ideas popping up in his mind as he continued. "It would be a start." He glanced at her, glad to have an opportunity to do something for her.


	2. Poker & The Mating Habits of Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker & Elizabeth make peace with one another and the initial seeds of attraction are sown.

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth watched Booker swim over to her, his long arms making the motion seem effortless. He got out the water and sat next to her in the warm grass. Despite coming out of the cool water Booker’s hard lean body still radiated heat, she could almost feel the warmth coming off of him. Unlike Elizabeth who was always cold, she liked that, they always seemed to complement each other.  She listened to Booker suggest some things that they could do together and Elizabeth turned her head to look at him, meeting his gaze. Elizabeth smiled at him softly, then she chuckled at his question. Her eyebrows raised, “I spent twenty years in a Tower what do _you_ think?” She asked him sarcastically, of course she didn’t know how to swim. Impulsively Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed her forehead into Booker’s wet shoulder, an affectionate gesture but brief. She pulled back and looked at him, talking with her hands as well as her voice as she made humorous gestures “That sounds all good to me. Teach me everything you know, Booker DeWitt.”  She pointed towards his head with her index fingers then touched her temples with those same fingers. “I want you to spill all the contents of your brain in my mind…not all at once of course. That would be overwhelming.”  Elizabeth said good naturedly, her sense of humor effortlessly fluctuating from sharp sarcasm to playful banter.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Pfff!" Booker huffed amusedly at her last comment, soft hint of a smile at his face. "Yeah, you couldn't possibly take that." Booker said, going along with their amusing banter, teasingly leaning to the side and nudging his wet shoulder into hers. Yeah, he liked this kind of interaction a lot better. Kind teasing and playful touches rather than angry yelling and hurtful comments. Yeah, they could make it work. They still knew how to interact with each other in a normal way. There was hope for them. They just both had to put a little more effort into communicating, not isolating themselves whenever possible. Booker glanced at the lake, looking at how the slowly setting sun was shining down on it. It was quite a nice sight to see the water shimmering in the warm light. He broke the comfortable silence. "I'll cook tonight." He said, turning his head back to her once he realized how hungry he was. "Least I can do for messing up the tomatoes." He said it in a playful way, but there was an undertone of apology for his behavior. And with that he stood up. "I can teach you how to play some cards after that." He walked back inside, picking up the articles of clothing one by one as he got closer to the house.

 **Elizabeth::** With a sly smile Elizabeth got up and followed the tall man back into the house, admiring how efficient Booker’s body moved with that long loping stride of his; muscles bunching then releasing in his strong legs and broad shoulders.  As Booker went into the kitchen Elizabeth flew up the stairs to her room, to grab the book she was currently reading. She snatched it off her bed, and went back down stairs to join Booker in the kitchen. Elizabeth wouldn’t interfere with what he was doing unless he asked for help, she just wanted to be near him as she read. So as he busied himself in the small kitchen she sat at their dinning room table with the chair turned out so she could prop her feet against the wall. The layers of her red dress spilled off more to the side, in that position but she hardly noticed. Elizabeth cracked the book open flipping through the pages quickly to find where she had left off. Ah, there we are. She read intently her brows knitting together, then raising subtly, until they made perfect arches, her big blue eyes widening. “Holy shit…”Elizabeth muttered as she read the passage.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   His skin dried soon enough in this warm weather, and considering it was hot Booker did not bother getting dressed. When he would cook it'd only mean it'd get warmer at the stove, so he went with the most comfortable option and stayed in his boxershorts. He grabbed some potatoes from the cupboard, and put a pan on underneath the tap, filling it with water before putting it on the stove and turning on the fire. By the time Elizabeth joined him in the kitchen he had started peeling the potatoes. Booker was quite handy with the small kitchen knife, peeling the potatoes surprisingly thin with those large hands of his. He wasn't a particularly good cook but he wasn't terrible at it either, or at least he thought so himself. He was good enough to make his own simple meals. Just plain simple food, nothing fancy, but still tasty. Booker briefly washed the potatoes before he cut them into pieces, dropping them into the water that was about to boil at this point. Right, what else should he add, hmm...Oh, they still had some leftover carrots, didn't they? Booker rummaged a bit in their fridge, taking out both the carrots and a few eggs. Another pan and a frying pan were added to the stove. Bit of oil in the frying pan, there we go... Booker cracked the eggs, putting the shells in a little box at the sink. He'd throw those away later. He went to grab a cutting board. Not the one Elizabeth had been using earlier today. He didn't really feel up for that. "Hm?" He partially turned to Elizabeth as he started washing the carrots. "What're you reading?" He asked curiously, wondering what would instill such a reaction on her.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth raised one of her eye brows at Booker’s curious question. She raised her head, brushing a few strands of hair away that had fallen into her eyes. “I’m reading about the life cycle of bees. I’m not particularly fond of them being anywhere near my person, obviously, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate their function in nature.” It was one of the books she had seen through her tears at the library and as usual, Elizabeth discreetly opened it and slipped it into the books she already had with no intention of bringing it back. It’s not really stealing if the book isn’t supposed to technically exist. She re-read the passage that had grabbed her interested. Elizabeth ran her tongue across her smooth teeth opening her mouth for a second then closing it, considering what to say. “Hmm…let’s just say that nature is…ruthlessly _efficient_ when it comes to certain things,” she said rather mysteriously with a cryptic smile, her blue eyes glinted in the fading light of sun set. Booker skewered her with a look, his arms crossed over his bare chest, as if to say “oh come on,” unsatisfied with her vague explanation. Elizabeth raised both eyebrows, alright you asked for it. “Allow me to read to you,” she made a show of clearing her throat dramatically, her voice was silky smooth as she spoke. “ ‘The reproductive cycle of bees is very complex. A brief summary: the queen is selectively bred in a special "queen cell" in the hive and fed royal jelly by worker bees to induce her to become sexually mature. A virgin queen that survives to adulthood without being killed by her rivals will take a mating flight with a dozen or so male drones (out of tens of thousands eligible bachelors in the colony). ‘ “ Elizabeth paused for a second, raising an index finger. “Now this is where things get _interesting_ … the male drone that successfully impregnates the queen immediately dies right after copulation because during mating, the genitals of the male drone explode and snap off inside the queen. The snapped-off penis acts as a genital plug to prevent other drones from fertilizing the queen, thus ensuring that particular drone’s paternity for the next generation.’” Elizabeth raised her head to look at Booker and gracefully shrugged her shoulders. “So, if you’re a male drone, mating is pretty much like a suicide mission.” Her long dark eye lashes fluttered briefly as she looked up at Booker. “My analysis, nature is some scary shit.” She said, the soft feathery layers of her brown hair gently moving as she shook her head decisively.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Bees, huh... They weren't too bad. They were a little dumb though, he'd give her that. Booker didn't mind having them around, but he could never really get rid of the association he now had with Fink's words of 'Be the Bee!'. Her cryptic synopsis didn't tell much, if anything it only made Booker more curious. He crossed his arms. Spit it out already. She prolonged the build-up to her reading, clearing her throat dramatically. Man, she really knew how to put up a show, didn't she? But at last, she told him what she read. Right, maturing of the queen, fed on her whim, living in her own little suite, served by rest of the colony. Right, so the multiple males drones...Was that what she found so shocking? She raised her finger, apparently not done with her story just yet. Okay, so the drone died after copulation and-- it _what_? 'Be the bee'? Hell no. Booker's face was visibly disgruntled and uncomfortable at the scene she described. The thought of his own cock snapping off after coming into whatever woman, needless to say, wasn't a pleasant one. Dying was one thing, but losing your cock? Hell, that might even be a bigger tragedy for him. He looked at her innocent face, clearly less affected by that piece of information then he was. Well, unlike him she didn't have a cock, so her empathy on that level was null. Yeah, nature could be pretty scary like that. "Well, better them rather than I..." He mumbled silently, continuing cutting up carrots before he threw them in a pan of boiling water, flipping the eggs afterwards. He liked it when she talked about what she read, gave them a form of interaction they didn't have that much. Besides, he enjoyed hearing her smooth voice.

 **Elizabeth::** Booker looked sufficiently disturbed by her description and that made Elizabeth laughed as she heard him mumble. Yeah, as a male he was probably feeling sympathy pains for the poor drone bees doomed to die just because they wanted to mate. She had a better understanding of sexual intercourse now that she was out of her tower and had access to books that _didn’t_ have certain pages ripped out of them. But, they were purely from a scientific stance and Elizabeth reading it and studying some anatomical diagrams did nothing to stir her vivid imagination. Cool and detached logical facts, that’s all they were. But, she wasn’t stupid just perhaps painfully naïve, so Elizabeth “knew” that sex _had_ to feel good, mother nature’s way of ensuring the continuation of the species. However, other than that Elizabeth didn’t have much to go by on the way that men and women were supposed to sexually court each other. Hmmm. Elizabeth ran her fingers through her hair, just for the sake of enjoying the soft texture of it. “Don’t feel _too_ bad for Mr. Bee, Booker. His life expectancy is only ninety days. There are worse ways for him to die. With that in perspective it doesn’t making the mating sound as horrible.” She watched the spatula he was using to turn the eggs stop in mid motion. “I mean if _I_   was a drone bee and I had a chance to choose between the Queen, being squished by some angry person’s shoe, or quietly falling over dead, the best choice is pretty _obvious_. With a short life span Mr. Bee is just making the best of a bad situation.” Elizabeth concluded, shutting the book closed with a distinctive snap. “Besides male bees can’t even sting you, only the females can,” she said as she gracefully rose from her chair. “So, long live the Queen,” Elizabeth spoke doing a modest curtsy and bowing her head. Her body language was fluid as usual, as she glided towards their radio nothing particularly unusual about her movements. But her voice…which _she_ thought just sounded mischievous and funny, unknown to her took on a rather salacious undertone.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   "Hm." Booker mumbled as she told him their general life expectancy. Well, yeah, when you put it like that... If you lived that short you might as well make the best out of it. Go out with a bang, quite literally. That's what she would do in their position, at least. Elizabeth would rather die after fucking than getting murdered or silently withering away. 'Elizabeth' and 'fucking' in the same sentence stirred some other sort of curiosity in Booker. She said it so casual and she sounded so sure she would enjoy it, but had she ever had sex to begin with? Nah, he didn't think so, not when you were locked up in a tower all by yourself your whole life. Didn't seem likely. What did she do then to relieve her stress? Masturbate? Possibly. For some reason he didn't think she pleasured herself. The naive little virgin girl masturbating? Didn't think she would. And he left the subject at that, not wanting to trigger any graphic thoughts about his daughter like that. She rose from her chair, causing a faint tug at Booker's lips as she made a little curtsy. Her voice sounded a tad lubricous, and...was that intentional? No, it was just his mind that made him think of it as such. That's what you get for thinking about fucking. "Can you put the plates on the table?" He asked, distracting himself.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth turned on the radio, but dialed the volume back a bit that way they could still have a decent conversation but enjoy the music as well. Nice! It was a song that she had heard before, that always made Elizabeth happy. To be able to recognize songs no matter how different or strange they sounded. When Booker asked her to put plates on the table Elizabeth was already humming along to the tune, so she just nodded at him to tell him that she would take care of it. She was particularly fond of this song because there were two lines of the song being sung at the same time and the harmony was just amazing. One woman sang, “with my naked eye I saw the falling rain coming down on me. With my naked eye I saw all if I said it all I could see,” while the other woman sang, “and it feels alright.” It wasn’t an overly scandalous or sexualized song, but the beat was sensually lazy and the women’s voices purred the words. Elizabeth reached up to open a cabinet and leaning over the sink she grabbed two plates and stacked them on top of each other before spinning around to open the drawer that contained their cutlery. “Last night I came into your home to break some ice and throw some stones. I asked if we could be alone I had some troubles of my own. Knew I had to say good bye to all the old things held inside. If I let the moment fly I knew they’d all be magnified. _And it feels alright_ …”She pulled out two forks and two knives for them and set those on the top plate, she then nestled them into the crook of her right arm balancing them against her chest and snatched a damp wash rag and placed that over her left arm. Once she was set Elizabeth walked over to the table. Elizabeth put the items on her chair temporarily and she placed her book on the floor propping it up against the wall then she leaned over and wiped down the table clearing it of any dust that might have accumulated during the day from having the windows of the house open to keep it relatively cool in the late summer heat; and after giving the table another once over with the cloth she finally set their individual places properly. By the time she had finished with her task Elizabeth was already softly singing along to the lyrics. “Wanted to be satisfied I tried to be dignified. Wearing nothing is divine. Naked is a state of mind. And it feels alriiiiiiight.” She walked back over the kitchen counter and laid the rag down over the edge of the sink. Then she quickly snatched a shiny red apple from the basket of fruit that rested on top of their refrigerator, and only then did any thoughts of Booker cross her mind. Perhaps she should ask him if he wanted one with dinner as well. “Hey, Booker you want an apple?” Elizabeth asked casually turning her head over her shoulder.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker half-heartedly listened to the song as he prodded the food at times, checking how the boiling was going. It was one of those peculiar future songs again. He couldn't really get into them most of the time because they were so different from what he was used to, but there were some exceptions. Slowly but surely Elizabeth was acclimatizing him to newer music. His taste was a bit skewed at times, but he found himself being able to form an opinion of future music more and more. And, Booker found himself kinda liking the song that played now. There was something sultry about it, hasty but languid at the same time, the woman's voice bordering on a line of demanding and pleading. He glanced at Elizabeth as she offered to get an apple for him, one that was as about as red as her dress. "Yeah." He replied, turning back to his food. It seemed to be done. He put two rags on the table to put the hot pans on. He drained the water of both the potatoes and the carrots into the sink before he put them on the table. Afterwards he divided the eggs, and shoved them on their plates, putting the frying pan back on the stove. He grabbed some extra big spoon and sat down at the end up the table, where he always sat. He scooped up some potatoes and carrots for himself first, not caring about etiquette. They were way past that. And so, he started to eat, a little slow because the food was still very hot.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth brought over a pair of apples as Booker sat down at his usual spot scooping potatoes and carrots on to his plate. She placed one of the apples down in front of him silently and sat down at her usual spot across from him at the other end of the little table. Elizabeth grabbed the pot with the vegetables by the handle and carefully spooned them onto her plate. When she had a pile of them next to her eggs she reached for the salt and pepper shakers that were shoved into the corner where the table met the wall. Elizabeth shook some salt over her food, lightly sprinkling her potatoes and carrots with it, but she had the tendency to be heavy handed with the pepper and there was a fairly generous amount of it covering her eggs. Oh, shit she forgot. Her chair scraped across the floor and she rose to her feet. “What would you like to drink?” Elizabeth asked as she walked back into the kitchen opening a cupboard to grab two clean glasses.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   He chewed the carrots in his mouth and swallowed them before he answered her. "Red wine." He said, taking the salt shaker and putting some of it over his eggs and potatoes. He didn't really feel like drinking white wine today, and water did not even seem to be an option for him during dinner. And beer? Hm, not today. He kept eating, fork piercing a potato and stuffing it in his large mouth, pulverizing the substance with his strong dentals. "So those bees, you think they _know_ they're gonna die once they fuck the queen?" Booker said, the thought having been buzzing around in his mind for a bit now.

 **Elizabeth::**   She sat the glasses down at the counter while she went over to their refrigerator. Elizabeth opened the door and reached for a bottle of red wine briefly enjoying the wave of cold that washed over her as she held the door open. She felt her nipples stiffen into hard little nubs that hurt as her breasts pushed into her corset. Elizabeth shut the door and grabbed the glasses in her other hand and strolled back over to the table pondering Booker’s question about whether the males where self- aware of their impending deaths after mating with the queen bee. Elizabeth popped the cork on the wine bottle and poured the dark red liquid into their glasses. She left the bottle in the middle of the table next to the pot of vegetables and sat back down. Elizabeth swirled the chilled wine in her glass and took a sip from it looking thoughtful, her full lips pressed together before she answered. “Hmm…I don’t see why they _wouldn’t_. I mean it’s not like the other drones can’t observe their buddy drop dead after mating with the queen,” she said with a sarcastic laugh. Elizabeth then shrugged her narrow shoulders, “but it’s not like that knowledge changes anything, their just following their instincts. If the instinct to reproduce wasn’t a strong biological drive nothing would exist,” she added reaching for her apple. “If you’re a male and you’re _not_ a warm blooded mammal according to mother nature you are pretty much fucked no matter what you do,” and with that Elizabeth took a sharp bite from the fruit, her white teeth tearing into the crisp red flesh, juice trickling down her small chin.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker took a sip of wine, feeling the cold liquid run down his throat. "Hmm, it would only be a select few of drones who'd get that information then." He took another bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. Majority of the drones wouldn't know of their inevitable death when fucking, would the ones that did know still give it a shot? They would. Like she said with a nonchalant shrug; instinct was immensely strong. They'd dive in knowing they would die. Programmed to do so in a sense. They didn't care about the consequences, as long as they got to fertilize the queen it would be fine, that was all that mattered. It was a strong drive, one that Booker had had himself. Hell, if he hadn't given in to that urge himself he wouldn't be talking to Elizabeth right now. She never would've existed without him. Of course, Booker still had a strong drive for sex, which he tended to, but the need to actually _reproduce_ had long gone. He didn't want someone else's death by filling them with his seed and impregnating them on his guilty conscience. One was enough. "Evidently." Booker mumbled, both of them taking a bite simultaneously, Booker biting down on a carrot, and Elizabeth biting down on her apple. Her teeth dug into the fruit flesh. Juice was oozing down her chin, wetting it. Just like his seed could... He stopped himself right there, forcing to get rid of the involuntary perverted association, angry at himself for even _thinking_ that while looking at his own daughter. That was just fucking wrong. That's what you get for thinking about spilling your load into someone, he thought. He stared back at his plate before taking another sip of his wine.

 **Elizabeth::**   The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the piece of fruit down. She picked up her fork and decided to skewer a carrot and a potato both. Good, still warm but she wouldn’t burn her mouth. She alternated what she ate going back a forth from fruit, to eggs, to vegetables, filling her palate with the combination of flavors and tastes, occasionally pausing to sip her wine. They ate in silence for a while as they filled their hungry bellies with nourishment. After a while it was Elizabeth who broke the silence. “So tell me about these cards that we are going to be playing. The only thing I know is that there are different types of games, so which one do we play first?”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   They ate on in silence, Booker's hunger finally being stilled. Unlike Elizabeth, he saved the apple for last, something he worked to, like a dessert. Booker was almost done with his meal when Elizabeth broke the calm silence. He swallowed his bite, looking up at her. "Patience." Booker said with a french accent. A card game played by your lonesome self. Booker was clearly amused at his own little dry joke, a faint smirk at his face. "How about some poker?" He continued, stuffing the last of the eggs in his mouth, leaning back in his chair and grabbing the apple, the chair creaking lightly under his weight. He took a large bite from the apple, chomping off a piece, some juice sprinkling away because of the force of his strong teeth digging into the fruit flesh. He chewed, his cheek stuffed, awaiting Elizabeth's answer.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth stared at the man quizzically as he ate his apple. Poker, huh. “Sure, I’m up for whatever.” She replied.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker told her to get the pack of cards that was in his nightstand, upper drawer. While she got it Booker cleaned the table, and by the time she found what she was looking for Booker was already doing the dishes. Elizabeth helped him out by drying off and putting the items back in place, each performing their task. Booker was eager to get stared. He liked playing cards, for better or worse. He vividly remembered the countless nights he had stayed up to play the game of bluff. He was pretty good at it, though being good was not always enough to win. Sometimes you just had to be damn lucky, that's as simple as it was. And luck was rarely on Booker's side, he'd found that out a long time ago. Still, this should be fun. He had no chance of losing or gaining money so he wouldn't have to worry about that. This was merely for fun, to show her something she had never done before. Teach her something she didn't know. To engage her. And little while later they sat at the table at their usual spots. Booker explained to her how the game worked, keeping it brief. Is she had any questions during the game she could ask them then. You'd get the idea of it when you started to play. And play they did. The first round was mostly getting used to the system, engrave the rules in your mind. They even shared a small laugh at times at a dry comment as she got more comfortable with the game, the atmosphere was very pleasant. Not very surprisingly, Booker won the practice round. And the first round. And the second. They were getting really into it at this point. It had grown dark in the meantime, slightly colder, but Booker simply had too much _fun_ to even think about getting up to put on something warmer. He enjoyed the competition. In a short time Elizabeth had grown from the level of a novice to the level of a regular player. Yeah, the girl adapted quick, like she always did. She wasn't at his level quite yet, Booker had had way more time to pick up the small subtle tricks of the game, but she was getting dangerously close. He supposed she had a knack for it, just like him. Really her father's daughter, huh. It was an endearing thought, and he smiled softly as he looked at the subtle scowl on her face, amused by her internal struggle as she pondered her next move. However, once she played her cards her frown transformed into a triumphant smile. So sweet, her soft lips curled up. She got him. She _played_ him. Booker laughed softly, shaking his head. The victory of the third game went to her. "Not bad, not bad." Booker said friendly, revealing his own remaining cards. He took a sip of the glass of wine that he had refilled several times at this point. He leaned back in his chair, glass still in his hand. "We should do this more often." Green eyes were fixed upon the victor at the other side of the table, wine sliding down his throat.

 **Elizabeth::** Well, God damn she _actually_ won that round. Elizabeth felt a rush of adrenaline and it felt _good_. Learning and playing the game was fun, but winning, that was _even_ better. She definitely had a taste for that. Her smile only grew wider when Booker complemented her, and she took one last swallow of wine draining her glass dry. Like Booker she had drunk a few more glasses as time went on, not as much as him but still, and the alcohol didn’t really bother her. She had a full stomach to absorb it all, so Elizabeth was just a bit buzzed. She had never been under the table drunk before and the thought didn’t have much appeal to her, so she always knew when to cool it when it came to drinking.  But, like most people with alcohol in her system her language was a lot more uncensored, not that Elizabeth ever censored herself, she cursed more. Not to make a point but just because she could. “Fuck yes we should,” Elizabeth said decisively setting her glass down, having gotten into the habit of using the older man's foul language. “I like this game.” She added grabbing a handful of cards and clumsily shuffling them together to make her point. Damn she would need to practice that more. The motion still felt awkward and cumbersome. “Mmmm…check out that coordination. Because _clearly_ I am the best at this,” Elizabeth mused sarcastically with a laugh.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker laughed along with her, voice low and pleasant. "Let me." He leaned in and put down his glass, taking the cards from her. He put them all on one stack, then divided it in two equal halves, the back of the cards facing up. He put his thumbs at the underside of the closest corner of the card stacks, holding the stacks up diagonally, creating a reversed V shape. And with that, he ran his thumb over the side of the card stacks, the cards rapidly flipping down in the same way one would flip through a book quickly. He leafed them, the cards merging. All he had to do was push them together a little bit more to make them an entire stack again. And that's what he did. He performed the same little trick another time, mixing the cards. It wasn't a very special trick. The _way_ that he did it _was_ though. It was fluent, trained, a display of finesse with those large hands of his, no card escaping his grasp. It was swift and accurate, proving he had done it so many times before that he didn't even need to be looking at the cards to do it properly, instead looking at Elizabeth and the healthy blush she had on her face because of the wine. " _That's_ how you do it." He grinned, shoving the mixed stack to the middle of the table, afterwards taking another large sip of his wine.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker took the cards away from her in his large hands and demonstrated properly how to shuffle the deck. Elizabeth watched his hands with fascination, the way they moved so effortlessly, like preforming the action was nothing at all to him. Her sharp mind studied the shape Booker made with the two stacks taking a mental picture, watching all the cards fall into place one after the other completely synchronized. He performed the action a second time for her, but Elizabeth wasn’t satisfied with just watching. This wasn’t like playing the actual game which required thought, this was a purely _physical_ action. Muscle memory, seeing wasn’t enough, you had to _feel_   it for yourself. One of the aspects of Elizabeth’s personality that made her such a quick learner and so adaptable was she had the foresight to categorized and separate different sorts of actions and know that the brain picked up on them in a variety of ways. Elizabeth recognized that the _whole_ body learned not just the mind. You don’t train the ear to see you train it to listen. A physical action had no exception, to learn this she had to _feel_  where to position her hands, where to place her fingers, the speed at which she should let the cards fall. Elizabeth waited for Booker to set down his glass before she said, “Do it again.” The tone in her voice had a touch of a commanding undertone in it, almost as if _s_ _he_ was the one teaching Booker how to do something and not the other way around and he raised his eyebrows at her. But, he picked up the deck again and separated them into two halves and Elizabeth leaned forward to place her small hands on top of his large ones as he began to shuffle the cards.  She watched the cards as usual, but now she was absorbing the information of touch. How Booker’s hands flexed and moved the subtle ways he moved his fingers, and the speed of his large thumbs pressing against the surface of the cards a soft ripple as each fell into place. “Again,” Elizabeth told him, and he did it again. She had Booker repeat the motion for her, and after the tenth time Elizabeth moved back into her seat lifting her hands away from his.  Those cards were her universe, and Elizabeth grabbed the stack from the table confidently and shuffled them. It was like she had the hands of a different person, she performed the action much easier but it didn’t feel smooth. Again, she thought. And so Elizabeth shuffled the cards until they felt like old familiar friends beneath her finger tips, nothing but perfection would do. She was just that way; she would push herself until she nailed it. The cards flew beneath her slender fingers as her hands learned to adapt and adjust for the size difference between her hands and Booker’s, each successive action more fluid and successful than the last. Elizabeth heard the crispness of the cards rippling in her hands, bending them into that diagonal inverted V shape. There, _that_ was it. Elizabeth set the deck back on the table decisively, finally satisfied that she got the hang of it and only then did she look at Booker’s face.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   DeWitt put his glass down with a soft thud, Elizabeth's voice reaching his ears. Do it again? Booker glanced at her with a hint of surprise with raised eyebrows. It wasn't so much a question as it was a demand, the wine making her a lot bolder. Well, alright. No harm in that. He scooted his chair a little closer to the table and leaned forward, picking up the deck once more. He would perform the same motion once more, splitting the deck. He held the halves up diagonally again, stopping his movement when Elizabeth placed her slender hands on top of his. What did she--Huh...The touch was a bit unfamiliar for him coming from her, but he didn't find himself disliking it. He understood her way of thinking, even though it was a peculiar one. She was like the little kid at the zoo that insisted on touching the animals, not just watch them, no matter if they were dangerous or not. Looking at them was not enough to know the structure of their fur or scales. You could get a rough idea of how it felt, but it was and would always be only an estimation. And in the same way, looking at Booker shuffling the cards wasn't enough to know which subtle movements he made. Muscle memory at its finest. It wasn't something you could simply show, it was something you had to get a feeling for. And the first step to getting that feeling was figuring out how _he_  felt shuffling the cards. Which muscles he used, how his fingers shifted, how his thumb slid. He got that. And so he started shuffling the cards with great ease, calloused fingers against the smooth cards, his muscles moving underneath her touch, pressing into her warm skin. Again, she told him. _Commanded_ him. Once more he split the stack in two, bringing them together with a rapid crisp sound of the cards falling into each other, a sound that Booker liked a lot. Soft little taps, but with a sharp undertone. Again. Again. At one point she didn't even need to ask him anymore, he just kept on repeating the motion with the same ease, effortless, never dropping even one card. No slacking. Eventually Elizabeth drew her hands back, sitting back in her chair. She took the stack of cards, and Booker's hand grabbed the bottle of wine which, unfortunately, was almost empty. He refilled his glass, quietly sipping from his drink as Elizabeth attempted to shuffle the deck. She managed, but her fingers weren't used to it just yet. But, full of resolve she kept going, occasionally dropping a card, but in general it went okay. And suddenly, she _got_ it. Her movement fluent, confident and spot on. She gave him a look, putting the deck on the table. 'There you have it'. He raised his eyebrows momentarily, giving a short chuckle with closed mouth, small smirk at his mouth. He took a sip of his wine, glancing at the neat deck before meeting her gaze again. "Check out that coordination." He quoted her with a smirk, only this time the comment wasn't filled with sarcasm.

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth gave Booker a sly little smile at his complement and nodded her head. “I can only get better from here,” she replied as she watched him drink his wine. She felt the warm glow of satisfaction in her stomach at the thought of impressing him. Elizabeth shifted in her seat, she had been in the same position too long. So, she put her slender arms behind her back and linked her fingers together as flexible as a cat and stretched out the sore muscles in her neck and shoulders for a few seconds. “So, tomorrow we swim, yes?” Elizabeth inquired as she rolled her shoulders back.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker wondered if she could surpass him when it came to shuffling and playing. In the very least, he was sure they would be equals at one point in time if she continued to learn at this rate. He wasn't too concerned about it right now, he was confident of his own abilities, and hell, even though he liked winning; it was more fun to win from a difficult opponent. A challenge as it were. He watched her thoroughly stretch, her muscles tensing comfortably. "Yeah." He replied as she rolled her shoulders back, her chest pushing forward because of it. Booker chose to look at the glass of wine in his hand instead. "Just tell me when you're up for it tomorrow." He said, planning on sleeping in. Today had been pretty exhausting, maybe more mentally than physically. He stood up from his chair, pushing it underneath the table. He rolled his right shoulder a bit, and leaned over to grab the deck of cards, putting it back in the box with his dextrous fingers. "I'm gonna call it a night." He said to her, giving a small nod in her direction as a silent form of wishing her goodnight.

 **Elizabeth::** "Good night, Booker” Elizabeth called after him as she watched him climb up the stairs. She rose from her seat with a soft sigh and pushed in her chair, walking around to do the same for Booker’s chair. Elizabeth turned off the radio, then retrieved her book where she left it on the floor while they ate and played cards. Normally, she would stay up reading until she fell asleep at the kitchen table or on their small couch as was her habit. But, this time Elizabeth thought that the idea of reading in bed until she fell asleep sounded much more appealing. When she heard the bathroom door tightly shut closed, Elizabeth climbed up the steps the air growing hotter and hotter as she did. Christ…it was boiling up here, good thing she left her window open a crack, maybe some breeze would come in.  She strolled into her room and set the book down on her bed, reaching around her back to untie the sash around her waist. Elizabeth need to get out of her clothes quickly, mostly because it was unbearably hot and her corset was beginning to irritate her sensitive skin even through the chamosile she wore not so much as to avoid awkwardness between herself and Booker. Elizabeth still didn’t fully grasp why Booker was uncomfortable if she was in any state of undress, to her a body was a body. Nothing to be ashamed of, just something that _was_ , why couldn’t Booker look at her like an artist would? You observed maybe even appreciated what was there, but you were ultimately detached. And after being so closely monitored in Comstock House for over six months Elizabeth had lost all sense of shame. It was really hard to stay embarrassed when you had people staring and touching your naked flesh everyday, watching you bathe, use the toilet. Booker’s discomfort was even more of an annoyance in this heat, _he_ could hang around in his boxers all day, but she had to remain relatively covered up. Elizabeth opened her wardrobe the large doors obliterating her undressing form except for her bare feet. She slipped the delicate fabric over her head and hung her dress up with a wire hanger. Elizabeth did the same of her petticoat her movements going a bit faster. Her hands eagerly undid the clasps of her corset just as an excited young man would undress his lady love, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

God, that felt _so_ much better. It was euphoric. She slipped out of her undergarments letting them fall to the floor, unlike the rest of her things she wouldn’t be putting those items away. They were dirty with the sweat of the day and would need to be washed. One of Elizabeth’s feet kicked the material away casually and at last she stood naked in front of the full length mirror that was on one of the inside doors. It was essential to dressing herself, especially getting her corset on since she had no help from anyone to do that in her life.  She saw light red marks on her skin from where the boning of the corset pressed through the fabric of her chamosile. Elizabeth shook her head in annoyance as she reached for the thin slip that she would wear to bed. It had thin straps and you could see her firm, perky breasts right through the lace at the top, and the length just barely hit her knees. Close as she was ever going to get to sleeping stark naked in the relentless heat. She had another nightgown, a more conservative one that was longer and made of cotton and Elizabet put that on whenever she crawled in bed next to Booker, lest he wake up and see something obscene. And whenever he crawled in bed with _her_ she was always cocooned in her bed sheet because she inevitably got cold sometime during the night. Her body was just funny like that.  But, now it was _hot_ and Elizabeth wanting nothing more than to stand in front of an open window and cool off. She shut the drawers of her wardrobe quietly and walked over to the window in her room. Her small hands slipped underneath the sill and with a push she roughly raised it higher to let in more air.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Contently for the first time in quite while Booker trudged upstairs. The heat gave him an unpleasant greeting as he reached the second floor, wrapping around him like an unwanted blanket. Damn, sleeping was gonna be tough at this rate. Oh well, he had to take a shower first, maybe that'd help him a bit. He entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him, keeping the heat out. It was a bit cooler in here, but not by much. Lazily he took off his boxer shorts, padding over to the shower. Time to get that dirt from gardening and swimming off of him. Yeah, it had been a long day... Booker turned on the shower, turning up the temperature of the water. If it was hot enough, maybe the rest of the house would seem relatively cool, enabling him to sleep. The tiny window of the bathroom was still opened, so the steam could get out properly, making place for cooler night air. Booker let the stream of water run down his body, soak his hair and warm his body even more. His large hands roamed over his body with the soap, scrubbing off whatever stuck to his skin. Didn't seem to be much though. Swimming earlier had gotten rid of most of the dirt. He put the soap away, washing his hair, it had gotten a bit greasy after swimming. He stood there for a while, longing to get away from the shower simply because it was so hot. He lazily cleaned his crotch, washing out whatever little pieces of plants or sand got stuck in his pubic hair. Hm... He ran his hand over his limp shaft. He might as well jerk off, that'd help him sleep just a little easier. He would stay under the shower just a little longer.

Right, let's see...What to fantasize about. Ah! That woman from last week, she was quite the looker. And hell, she had been able to take him quite deep in her throat. Yeah, that was some kinky shit, that would work. Booker slowly started working himself, arousing himself with the thought of the woman's soft murmurs as she wrapped her lips around his head. How her tongue snaked out, stroking along the underside of his hardened shaft, getting him worked up. Booker leaned his head back against the tiled wall, increasing his pace, member already stiffening. Hmm, yes~ Faster... He relived his memory a little more severe than it actually had been, but that was kind of the point of imagining. In reality he'd taken into account how far she could take him in. He did not push her. Did not force her to take him in. Kept everything comfortable and in check. In his mind he imagined his whole cock sliding into her throat, how _pleased_ she would be to take him in, as if him shoving himself into her throat felt _heavenly_ for her, though Booker knew damn well in reality she'd have to be fighting every urge in her body not to pull away if he did that. He readjusted his stance just a bit, hips languidly moving along with his hand. That's it. He didn't prolong his build-up. He didn't go easy on himself and rammed his clenched hand down repeatedly, water splattering. He kept focusing on how he had come inside her, how his seed spilled in her mouth, how it had oozed out, trickling down her chin like the juice of an apple and-- Booker abruptly halted his movements. Well, _shit_. Fuck. What a turn-off...Just...Whatever, just keep going. So close now, doesn't matter. Booker kept jerking off to the thought of the woman moaning for him and squeezing his base, and at last he came. He brushed away whatever sweat he had produced and turned off the shower. He dried himself off hastily and put his boxer shorts in the laundry basket. He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out, heading over to his room which was just opposite of the bathroom. Once he was inside he threw the towel over a chair, and got into bed. Man, it was hot... Normally he'd sleep with boxer shorts on, but not tonight. Too warm. He pushed off the blanket, only a sheet to sleep under remaining. That was better. Booker crawled into bed, trying to get comfortable in this incredible heat. Good thing he was tired, at least. He tossed and turned for a bit until he finally lay at his side, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lag in updates, for future reference this work is going to updated every other Monday. Hope you enjoyed and see everyone next time!
> 
> *The song on the radio was, "Naked Eye" by Luscious Jackson.


	3. Look But Don't Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As swimming lessons begin subconscious thoughts on both Booker and Elizabeth's part subtly influence their behavior.

**Elizabeth::** She was in the church again, the one with the big stained glass windows and white marble everywhere. It was quite beautiful and she _hated_ it. Elizabeth walked the meditative labyrinth in the middle with her arms out stretched like she was in a precarious balancing act. It was dark, the only light around her were white candles and the eerily glowing green tiles beneath her feet. Elizabeth was naked, she never looked down at herself to make sure because she just somehow _knew_ she was. The tiles beneath her feet was a dark staircase, but when ever she looked off to the side she saw things. The Luteces playing a duet on a big shiny white grand piano, their fingers flying over the keys. “I wish I could do that,” she thought her feet touching the cold slick surface of what she assumed was marble in the darkness.  But, Elizabeth was determined, she was going to find a way out, she just had to keep looking. But, the deeper she went the hotter and more suffocating it became, the surface of the ground beneath her feet was becoming soft and squishy as where her surroundings. Elizabeth tossed and turned in her sleep rapidly kicking the covers off the bed. She had never gone this far before, and Elizabeth was afraid. So afraid, and yet she felt compelled to continue on. The haunting notes of the piano kept fading and another sound replaced it growing steadily louder, a soft muffled thud. It became pitch black but Elizabeth saw a door, it was black, but there was light coming from underneath it and it bolstered her resolve. Elizabeth ran towards, but she kept tripping and falling over the uneven surface of the ground. But, it didn’t hurt even though she could taste the blood in her mouth. Finally she reached it, the metal door knocker was hot and it burned her hand. It could only be opened from the inside. “Let me in,” she whispered breathlessly and the door opened although no one had opened it for her.

The darkness didn’t fade as Elizabeth stepped over the threshold, what changed was that she could _see_. There was wet bloody flesh beneath her feet and bone, muscles, and veins full of rushing blood made up the walls of the massage. She knew where she was now. Elizabeth was inside of someone’s body, _Booker’s_ body. She just _knew_ it, dream logic is an amazing thing, even in the random wonder of a dream everything seemed to make sense, and you felt more alive because of it.  The sounds she heard were the beating of his heart coupled with a soft moan. It was a surreal experience and Elizabeth tentatively touched the walls trying to steady herself as she walked forward on a path of muscle and skin. She went looking for him, but that was silly? How could see search for Booker when she was already _inside_ of him. Maybe it was his soul that she sought… the essence of him. But no matter what she had to keep moving if she didn’t the place would kill her for sure. Elizabeth walked a few more paces with the thud of his heart and the moans growing louder. She followed them like a dog tracking a fascinating scent, going further and further into Booker, until she came upon a little tunnel. That was where she needed to go. Despite the fact that her heart pounded with fear Elizabeth got on her hands and knees and crawled through the tight space with the scent of blood, and death, and sex filling her nostrils. She got to the end of the channel having to squirm her way out and fell onto a pile of bones.

She was Elizabeth, and yet she wasn’t. She was something more, a sort of half-ghost, ethereal laying on atop a mountain of bones and ash as if she were trapt in a dark bloody fairy tale. _“You shouldn’t be here.”_ That was _his_ voice. The bones beneath Elizabeth were the bones of countless women. Women that he wooed, then devoured whole, his embrace crushed their fragile bones, and his seed burned them from the inside out turning them to ash at the moment of his pleasure. He was a hunter, women did not seek him out, _he_  found them. “But, I’m more than a woman,” she whispered reading his inner thoughts. Elizabeth had no idea where he was in the room, but every so often she’d see a glimpse of a lion’s tail, a clawed foot, or a slice of his scarred flesh. He _was_ monstrous, but she longed for his embrace all the same. _No, he couldn’t take her_. Why not? _“I don’t want you to die,”_ he told her. “But, I _won’t_  die. I’m a part of you…” Elizabeth slid down the pile of bones until she lay on the bloody pulsating floor. _No._ “But at least see me…look at me. Don’t you want to see me?" She whispered into the shadows, her hands running down her soft flesh. There was silence, but the heart quickened. Her hand passed over the small soft patch of hair on the mound of her sex. _You must keep your eyes closed. Do not open them._ Yes, _father_. Elizabeth thought as she touched herself in front of him, stroking the smooth naked pink flesh for his pleasure. She rubbed her erogenous zone all over in slow sensual circles. Such tender flesh, uniquely constructed. Her body made him salivate. _Move your hips, I want to see your rhythm_.  She moved her hips at his wish. The beating sound grew louder as her perfect, lithe, little body undulated. _Yes…tug your hood up_. Elizabeth pinched the sensitive nub of her clitoris out of the folds of blood engorged skin. _Spread you lips apart._ She did so with her fingers exposing her narrow virginal opening which glistened with the moisture of arousal. Heavy breathing. Elizabeth kept going, her heart beating faster at the unbearable buildup of pressure between her legs. Her fingers glided over the slippery surface feeling her larger, full inner lips move between the webbing of her fingers. _Keep going._ More pressure and she gasped for air and writhed in her sleep. She did not waken. She was the dream, the dream was her. Tremors of anticipating pleasure made her smooth thighs quiver. _How he’d like to sink his teeth into them._  In the throes of sleep her father was a scalding presence that protectively and greedily watched over her. His gaze burned her up, she was on fire. _She was so beautiful, pure, untouched, unseen, but raw and passionate._   _He’d let no one see her like this. Little faster and harder now, that’s it_. The hunter was silent in his observation of her exposed, vulnerable body only his thoughts and his frantically beating heart betrayed his desire for her flesh. So hot. So soft. So wet.  _Taut_ like a tightly wound bow string, but open and waiting for him to just—Elizabeth moaned in her sleep when she orgasmed, her still sleeping body gently shook and spasmed as she came. A clear, light fluid melted out from her vagina, making a small wet puddle beneath her body. She heard a quiet grunt, she had pleased him by pleasing herself, that was a start.

Elizabeth was slow to wake up, she felt like she had been drowning in her dreams. She rubbed her eyes in mild confusion the remnants of her dream clinging to her like perfume. Wow, it was _so_ vivid and intense that Elizabeth couldn’t separate what was a dream and what was reality. But, of course it was just a dream. She wasn’t inside of Booker’s body displaying and touching herself in front of the insatiable demon that lived in his dark heart. Just thinking about it gave her chills, what the hell was it supposed to mean? Was she supposed to forget about it or what? Elizabeth pulled back the light sheet that covered her petite form and froze. There was a dark puddle beneath her body, holy shit. Did she actually masturbate in her sleep? Apparently so, Elizabeth knew that people sometimes sleep walked but touching yourself? That was a first. It made the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end, it made her wonder what was real and what wasn’t. That hot burning presence over her felt so tangible. Booker? Couldn’t be and yet she couldn’t shake the thought once it entered her head.  Elizabeth pulled her sketch book from underneath her bed, her pencil was already in between some of the pages. She could only remember bits and pieces of said or felt information, but Elizabeth quickly sketched an anatomical heart that had a door.  She put a question mark next to it as her only comment, then she impulsively drew a spiral shape to wrap around it and a few squiggles to represent a pile of bones. Elizabeth sketched two roses, one closed and the other open with little water droplets. That would be _her_ , the open rose with the water would represent pleasure. The bow and arrow for Booker, she smiled softly at the sudden burst of inspiration. Elizabeth liked codes, symbolism, and all those would help her remember, instead of just righting a line that went “I had a dream of masturbating in front of my father, but he wasn’t really my father, he was a demon creature that I had a telepathic connection with.” She placed her pencil back in her book and closed it setting it on the bed. Elizabeth went into the bathroom glancing in Booker’s bedroom to see if he was there. He was not. Hmm. She washed up and cleaned her teeth, she’d wait on taking a shower though. Elizabeth would do that after she spent some time swimming. That would be exciting, and she looked forward to it. Elizabeth grabbed a beige colored dress, with short sleeves and scooped neckline made of cotton. It was so _hot_ already, Elizabeth thought that her under garments and the petticoat underneath her dress _should_ be sufficient material to get away with not wearing her corset, the layers of the thicker material would be enough to conceal her nipples. She left her brooch on the dresser not wanting to risk losing it in the lake. And she was ready for her day, she walked down the steps quickly looking for signs of Booker.  

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker's sleep was restless, his dreams even more so. The man was trudging in some an old railway station, one that was completely abandoned. Dust gathered everywhere, the tracks were overgrown with foliage and the locomotive that stood there was no longer in its glory. Booker scouted the place, his footsteps incredibly loud somehow as he walked over the broken tiles. And yet, despite it being abandoned, he felt there was something waiting for him here. Booker knew he had only just arrived with the train that stood outside, the one that had not moved in countless years, but that fact did not make it unlikely somehow. He didn't find that strange. He glanced around the large hall of the station, abandoned waiting benches, neglected interior, train schedules on the floor. What time was it? The large clock above him had stopped. Well, it was night at least, he knew that much, the dark around him almost palpable with its blue grainy hues. "I guess you're expecting me?" Booker called out, nothing but the echo of his own voice answering him. Cautiously he trudged on, glancing around. He opened the door to the little booth where they sold tickets, maybe there'd be someone in the back and-- Booker's grip on the doorhandle tightened at the sight in front of him. A man tied to a chair with a jute sack over his head, shot several times. Shit...No, no. No more of this, _shit_. With heavy legs Booker stepped closer to the corpse, reading the note on the victim's chest. "You disappointed." Booker read out loud as he picked up the small note. Booker gasped when the corpse seemed to react to his voice, head raised and even though he was blinded by jute Booker _knew_ he was looking at him. Straight in the eyes. Judging. Looking at the core of what horrible selfish man he was. It knew _everything_ about him, and it was overwhelming. In a reflex Booker dropped the note and stormed out of the ticket booth, stumbling over himself and falling to the ground.

Oof! The air was slammed out of his chest. Away, he had to get away from here quickly and-- When he opened his eyes he seemed to be somewhere else entirely. No railwaystation. He glanced behind him. No corpse either. His breathing was heavy, his heart racing as he tried to calm himself down. Alright, alright...Take it easy. Booker got back to his feet. Where was he now? It was so warm... Fire. There was fire around him. Stench of death and sweat. He glanced around in the dead of the night, high fires of foliage illuminating him and his surrounding. He knew _exactly_ where he was, and his heart sank in his chest. He held a torch in his hand, glancing at the teepee in front of him. No, no... Fuck this. When he glanced back a half-circle of comrades stood behind him, all in uniform. Stern, unforgiving, eyes fixed upon him. All spoke to him, their voices mixing in their hateful spew. What's wrong, you _bastard_? Ain't got the balls? I knew he was no good. Filthy backstabber. He'll try to murder us in our sleep. Pathetic injun. We don't want no stinkin' injun amongst us. A disgrace to his father. Poor man, to have such a weakling of a son. Pissy prick, can't even drop a torch. Bastard. Injun _bastard_. You'll never be one of us no matter how hard you try. You disappoint. "Shut the fuck up!" Booker yelled at them feeling like the 16 years old he was back then. No no, he wasn't just feeling like it, he _was_ 16 years old in this very moment. He looked back at the teepee. No, he _wouldn't_. Not this time. He knew better. He didn't _want_ to be part of those filthy soldiers. He told himself that over and over, but he felt there was no other choice but to set the teepee with a family inside on fire. He wanted to prove himself. To his father, make him proud. To his fellow soldiers, to be part of something. To himself, to accept him. He wanted to set the teepee on fire so desperately. All he had to do was swing at the flammable material. It was easy, the rest around him was burning already. One more little teepee wouldn't hurt. It wouldn't be missed, it was inevitable. No, he wouldn't do it. This was _his_ choice, and he chose not to do it. He just needed the resolve. Don't give in to his greed. A man stepped from the row behind him, snatching the torch from him. "I gotta do everything myself around here..." The tall man hissed hatefully. A man who longed for him to start the fire. Booker was looking in the angry eyes of his 38-year old self. "Don't you dare!" Booker yelled, but his older self swung at the teepee with such a deadly indifference that it was painful to look at. The heat rose as the teepee caught flame. Screams. Booker covered his ears. A woman on fire came running out of the teepee. His older self mercilessly grabbed her by her hair, stopping her in her tracks, the fire did not seem to hurt him even though soon it engulfed his arms entirely. He took a knife from his pocket with that stoic face of his, and started to scalp the woman as she struggled to get away. His older self looked him straight in the eye, not needing to look at the task he performed in order to do it properly, blade digging into skin. 'This is what you are' those eyes said, and a smirk crept across the man's face. 'It's a constant'. The older Booker dropped the woman to the ground, ripping off the rest of her scalp holding it in the air full of triumph. The soldiers made no sound at the sight. They just looked. Looked to see the beast that Booker DeWitt truly was. Savage. Brute. Selfish. Next thing Booker knew the man grabbed him by his hair, dragging himself into the fire. He could feel the flames scorching his skin. He struggled desperately to get free, but the 16-year old was no match for the 38-year old. He was thrown into the flames, and with that Booker woke up.

The man breathed heavily, sitting up in his bed. He was tangled up in the sheets, the fabric constricting him. His body was sweaty and incredibly hot. He ran a hand over his face. Dammit...He just wanted a good night's rest, that was all. He was shaking, the traumatic events still lingering in his mind. Shit... He was trembling. He pushed the sheets off of him, sitting at the edge of his bed. He just needed some company right now. He didn't want to be alone this very moment. He stood up and pulled on a pair of boxershorts, padding over to Elizabeth's room almost instinctively. They slept together more often, though neither of them ever said a word about it in fear of the need to discuss how appropriate it was and thus having to get rid of the habit now that it wasn't necessary anymore. It was a habit they had developed in Columbia, huddled together for safety and warmth. And that is what he needed right now. Not the warmth, obviously, but the safety. With heavy lidded eyes he strolled into Elizabeth's room, both of them always leaving their doors open. He took a few steps into her room, and it was only then that he looked at her. He stopped in his tracks. There she lay, sprawled on her back, sheets on the ground, nothing but her form and the pillows on her mattress. Her legs were spread, her nightgown rolled up, revealing her stark naked lower body. Her hand was between her legs, touching herself. Fingers rubbing around her soft pink flesh. It was dark, but Booker had sharp night-vision and could see exactly what she was doing to herself. Stimulating her clitoris, soft wet little sounds filling the room, a smooth moan to go with it. Fuck...She was awake and _masturbating_ and he had walked right in on her. Good thing he was quiet and she had her eyes closed, or this would've been more awkward than it was right now... He felt his stomach knot, blood rushing to his groin. Oh _hell_ no. You're not gonna get a fucking boner looking at your own _daughter_ masturbating! He backed out of the room immediately, heading back to his own bed. Alright, he wouldn't be sleeping next to her tonight then. What the hell...He felt angry at his own body for reacting like that as he trudged back to his room. He lay back down, his hardened member an annoying reminder of Elizabeth pleasuring herself. Just his fucking luck, he supposed. Well, he guessed that answered his silent question from earlier today; she _did_ masturbate. Booker tossed and turned, refusing to tend to his raging boner, knowing that she was the cause of it. He didn't fall back asleep in this heat combined with his urge to jack off. The most he could muster was a light slumber.

Booker was up early the next morning, having prepared the breakfast table. Just some bread with jam and stuff like that. He was already munching down as Elizabeth entered the kitchen. "Mornin'." He said, taking another bite as he glanced at her. The nightmares may have faded by now, nothing but a vague notion of discomfort, but the image of Elizabeth masturbating was still clear in his mind, and that bothered him. He looked at her a different way somehow. Looked at her as someone who had sexual desires too. Of course, that was entirely natural, he knew that, but somehow the thought of his own daughter being sexually active threw him off a little. He took another bite, following by a gulp of orange juice.

 **Elizabeth::** "Good morning, Booker,” Elizabeth chirped at him in reply with a courteous nod of her head. She gracefully and casually headed over to the cupboard. She grabbed a glass and headed over to the refrigerator to pour some orange juice for herself. The song that was playing last night at dinner was stuck in her head, and she hummed it beneath her breath. Which was completely normal for her, Elizabeth was always humming some tune, it was a absent minded habit, but a pleasant one. She hung around the kitchen sink sipping her glass of orange juice, and peered out the window; hot, but good weather for a swim not a cloud in the sky except for the fluffy white kind. Elizabeth frowned, those kinds of clouds reminded her of Columbia, she’d sooner see storm clouds. Bring on the rain, especially if it was warm rain. That would be pleasant. Her gaze inevitably fell on the red roses that grew below her window. She was fascinated with them, maybe because it was the fact that they had thorns; beautiful sweet things that could prick you and make you bleed. Her gaze fell on one that was in full bloom and it reminded Elizabeth of her sketch upstairs. She never took a rose, Elizabeth was content with looking at them all clustered together outside, but she wanted this one. It’s full bright red petals…she would think of something creative to do with them, Elizabeth wanted to keep it luscious forever, but how would that be possible? Hmm…she’s figure something out even if that meant freezing it. Or, figure someway to cast it in resin, suspend it forever. Still humming she sat her glass down and stretched out over the sink opening the window. Elizabeth bent down and opened the cabinet below retrieving a pair of gardening shears. She placed her palms on the counter and boosted herself up, turning her lithe body to the side Elizabeth leaned out the window. Stretching she grabbed at the bloom she wanted, thorns lightly pricking her skin, Elizabeth cut the stem at a diagonal muttering “I’m so sorry,” apologizing to the plant for her theft of its most beautiful blossom. Once she had her prize Elizabeth carefully contorted herself to fit back through the window. When she looked at Booker sitting quietly drinking his orange juice at the table Elizabeth sat the shears down and moved the hair out of her face and shrugged. She didn’t even have to put the blossom underneath her nose in order to smell its fragrance. Elizabeth stroked the soft crimson petals across her lips spinning the flower over her mouth then rolling it to her cheek. “It’s just one those things…I just _had_ to have it,” she said innocently with a careless shrug before sliding off the counter. Elizabeth found a tall glass to fill with water from the tap and carefully placed the rose’s slender stem in it. After she nudged it over into the spill of sunlight across the counter Elizabeth picked up her orange juice again and walked over to the table, grabbing just a single slice of bread, she never did have much of an appetite in the mornings.  Elizabeth decisively swiped the bread with a swath of strawberry jam with a butter knife. “So, when do we swim?” she asked taking a bite, chewing and swallowing it rather rapidly. Elizabeth held her index finger up, “No, wait. When do _you_ swim, and _I_ flail like an idiot in your wake?” she adjusted the question brimming with playful sarcasm.

Booker gaze was fixed upon her as she leaned out of the window with the gardening shears, sitting on the counter. Her curves were more pronounced as she leaned out, Booker thought objectively, chewing slowly his food and drinking some more. With her new prized possession she clambered back in, rose petals brushing against her lips. Booker could almost image the cold velvet feeling of the petals against his own lips.  Yep, just like the kid in the zoo again, he thought to himself. Watching wasn't enough. Watching alone would never do. She had to have it, touch it, possess it. A form of greed, he supposed, but different from the kind of greed he had. Her greed was more cherishing in a way. She wanted to feel the muscles in his hand, marveling at the subtlety of it, the tiny movement, cherishing them and making it her own. And now, she cut a rose, assumed she was admiring it for its beauty, it's velvety feel, wanting to touch it to fully appreciate its magnificence, claiming it as her own. The rose slowly rolled along her skin, caressing it with its smooth surface. As if she read his mind she simply told him she /had/ to have it. Booker made no comment at the vague justification for her action, and ate on. It was fine, he didn't mind. It was just a flower in his eyes. She could cut off as many as she liked. They'd grow back, eventually. She slid off of the counter with a soft thud, putting the rose in a glass of water. And after that, she started her breakfast too, not as hungry as he was, which wasn't unusual. "Hm." Booker mused amusedly at her last comment, brief hint of a grin at his face. "After I'm done eating." He said, conveniently pushing the last piece of bread in his mouth, swallowing it rather quick and standing up from his chair. He was ready. "You gonna swim in that?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, looking at her gown.

 **Elizabeth::** The girl's eyes glanced over at Booker as she polished off the last of her orange juice.  She turned her body around in her chair and set her empty glass down carefully. “No. I was planning on taking my dress off before I got in the water and just swimming in the stuff I have on underneath. Do _you_ have a problem with that?” she asked him cocking her head to the side defiantly gazing up at the tall man, her voice peppered with an attitude.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Nah." Booker answered her, wiping a crumb that was stuck at the corner of his mouth. "Saves laundry." He stated simply, speaking the truth, her challenging attitude not going unnoticed. Though he couldn't help but wonder what she wore underneath. Maybe the tiny nightgown that she wore last night when she-- _Stop right there_. He cleaned the breakfast table, putting the dishes in the sink and the rest back in the cupboards, lazily wiping the surface of the table with a damp rag, not being very thorough. He was eager to swim, especially in this heat. It was still pretty early with the sun rising, and yet the heat already started to kick in. He longed to be emerged in the cool water. He walked outside, the grass damp and pleasantly chilly underneath his feet. He was not bothering to glance back at Elizabeth, hearing her walk behind him. He made a small sprint, and dove into the water, lean body looking even longer with his body stretched out in his jump. Arms stretched forward, body in a mild curve as he glided into the water, disappearing underneath the surface. It took a few seconds for him to resurface. He seemed comfortable, in his element. He swam over to Elizabeth who stood at the edge. Going in all at once was better in regards to getting used to the temperature, but it was better to ease her in slowly. He stood close to the edge, standing in a part of the water that was more shallow, but the water still got up to his chest. Elizabeth would only barely be able to stand there. This lake was deep, even at the edge. He glanced at the grass as Elizabeth took off her dress, and noticed from the corners of his eyes that she indeed wore the tiny nightgown underneath. Don't even _think_ about it. He looked back at her, holding out a hand for her, something to hold onto as he would ease her into the water. "I got you." He said reassuringly, his other hand ready to support her waist once she'd get close enough. He'd hold her up in the water.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth easily slid out of her dress and petticoat, leaving most of her legs bare. The tall warm grass tickled the skin of her calves.  Booker offered her a hand to help her into the water, and Elizabeth thought back to when he had done the same when she had saved his life from a Handyman with a blimp. But, those fascinating cat green eyes of his which had been glued to her in earnest back then only took quick glances at her now, not looking at her more than necessary. She could only shake her head, what the hell _was_ his problem? “I got you.” Partners? Yeah, you got me, just like how I wondered for six God damn months where the fuck you where…Elizabeth thought with a sudden surge of resentment as she placed her tiny hand into his large one. Booker floated closer to her and she felt the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of the shift she wore. Without much choice Elizabeth gave him control of moving her body as he held her up over the water in his strong arms. She weighed practically nothing, supporting her shouldn’t be hard, was Elizabeth’s thought as she tried to brace herself for the cold touch of the water.  She stared down at the cool liquid as it came closer as Booker carefully lowered her into the water. Elizabeth couldn’t explain why she didn’t look at _him_ while he lowered her down. Stupid fucking dream. She would have been blushing, but the freezing water immediately killed the urge. In fact it purged almost every other thought Elizabeth may have had in her pretty little head. The cold was sharp and yet it was numbing. Her lithe body tensed, and she was quickly covered in goose bumps that Booker must have been able to feel though the thin fabric. Her nipples went into stiff little peaks like bright pink stones, and her toes curled. Water rushed around her quivering trembling form, and Elizabeth pressed her lips together into a hard tight line as the liquid lapped at her; its coldness caressing her everywhere. Her eyes were locked on to the easily identifiable scars on Booker’s well-muscled chest during the process of getting her in the water. But, she wasn’t really cold _everywhere_ , Elizabeth felt a continuous pulsating warmth in her abdomen from Booker’s large hands easily encompassing her tiny waist. How could he stay warm in this? It baffled Elizabeth who’s warmth was sucked out of her the moment her feet glided into the water. When she felt the water gently hit her collar bones Elizabeth looked at Booker’s face, “God _damn_ that’s cold.” 

 **Booker DeWitt::** Once she took his large hand he moved into her a little more, placing his free hand on her waist, a thin layer of fabric the only thing separating their skin. Moving his other hand over he picked her up effortlessly. She was very light, Booker not breaking a sweat as he eased her into the water in which she would be even lighter. He could feel her tense under his touch, her body quivering at the sudden cold, her little hairs standing up right. He eased her further in in a steady pace, not fast enough to make her worried about the water engulfing her entirely. He held onto her, the water eventually reaching her collarbones, and that is where he stopped. The water did most of the job holding her up, but Booker made sure she wouldn't sink, holding her waist. Hm...Funny in a weird way actually that she only _now_ would learn how to swim. Had she grown up with him, he would've taught her at a much younger age. Make sure she would know how to swim, in fear of her drowning. Teaching her so that if needed she could take care of herself, precautions. But, they had never had that. It was merely a form of longing for something that had never been and never would be. All he could attempt now was make up somewhat for the years they had spent in separation. Better late than never. "It's not that bad once you go under entirely." He shared, only now daring to look at her fully now that her body was in the dark water. Not that bad, huh... Booker vividly remembered how the stupid blind man at the entrance to Columbia had attempted to cleanse him. 'This one doesn't look quite clean to me'. Damn fool had almost drowned him. Well, he had survived, that's what mattered. He wouldn't drown. He wouldn't be smothered. Wouldn't sink to the bottom. He pushed the thought aside. Thinking of how dangerous water could be in this very moment was not the best of ideas. "Alright, hold out your arms to the side, feel the resistance of the water." He started, looking at her slender limbs as they stretched out. "Get used to the feeling. The essence of swimming is, well...Pushing and pulling yourself through the substance." he mumbled, trying to explain it best he could, not having taught someone to swim before. It wasn't as easy as telling someone how to pull a trigger. "Frantic movement close to the body gets you nowhere, in fact it makes you sink. Try making long outward strokes first, push yourself up from the water slightly to stay afloat." He adjusted his position slightly, warm fingers digging into her side. "I'm not letting you go, just let the water do the work. Slow movements, keep your fingers close to each other to get more resistance. Like a paddle of some sorts."

 **Elizabeth::** She listened to Booker’s instructions intently. Frantic movements, bad idea, got it. Elizabeth pressed her  fingers together and held them  out of the water so he could see, “like this?” Booker nodded. Okay, long strokes, she could try that. He wasn’t going to let go of her, she wasn’t in any danger. But, Elizabeth was anxious to get moving, anything to get her blood warmed up so she didn’t feel so cold anymore. Consciously keeping her fingers together Elizabeth brought her slender arms around to the front of her body. She put them together holding them parallel, getting a feel for the buoyance of the water. Elizabeth then opened her arms making a sweeping motion outwards her arms then dropping back down into the water. She instinctively pulled herself forward closer to Booker the only source of warmth in the midst of the cold. Her legs shifted just slightly and Elizabeth felt one of her knees brush against what Elizabeth assumed to be Booker’s thigh. “Like that?”

 **Booker DeWitt::** “Just like that." Booker said with a straight face as Elizabeth brushed against his inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. "Now, try to do the same with your legs, let them help you keep afloat too. Bend your knees to the side, spread your legs, and close them as your stretch them. Try to make a circle with them." He instructed her, silently hoping she wouldn't brush near his crotch again in her incompetence and closeness.

 **Elizabeth::** Alright time to engage her legs. Elizabeth made a similar motion beneath the water with just her legs to get the feeling of it. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. She put her arms back together and tried to coordinated her efforts between upper body and lower body.  It wasn’t _too_ bad, the water made up for her graceless motions. But, she supposed that was the whole point of learning to swim, allowing the water to do most of the work for you. Elizabeth diligently kept at, like she had with learning to shuffle the deck of cards last night. Booker floated back as Elizabeth moved forward, and eventually she had herded them into the middle of the lake. She was perspiring and breathing just a little quicker from the effort but not too bad. Booker was nodding his head like she was getting the hang of it, and just as if she had read his mind she said, “don’t congratulate me yet. I’m not actually swimming if I have to _think_ about it so much.”

 **Booker DeWitt::** She seemed to be doing alright, her body getting used to the feeling of the water surrounding it. They were led further out into the lake, Booker using his legs to keep himself afloat, he didn't need his arms too for that. He liked her dedication, her face focused and thinking about her every movement, making it look a bit uncouth in general. She didn't seemed afraid of the water, she was merely learning how to not make it be dangerous. She figured out how to manipulate the water in her favor, determined to get the hang of it. And she did, Booker giving her a small nod of encouragement. "You'll figure it out." Booker told her, leaning back a little more on his back in a relaxed way, enjoying the comfort of the water, back of his head in the water, Elizabeth encircled between his legs. He tried not to touch her with his legs as he stretched and trampled languidly to stay moving, albeit slowly. "It's just a matter of practice."

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth smiled at his words of encouragement and watched how he could easily stretch in the water, keeping himself a float. He was partially on his back, his head languidly resting in the current. Elizabeth felt the strong movements of water as his legs worked, but she did not feel his actual flesh.  “I suppose I will,” she replied. God, he looked so restful and that was _something_ for an aggressive man like him. Elizabeth wondered what it would feel like to float like that? Maybe like a bath tub… but she had seen him do back strokes before. She didn’t feel quite ready for that, but Booker could introduce her to the _feel_ of it. And the thought of the warm sun hitting her partially exposed body made her want it even more. “Hey, Booker could you flip me over so I can float on my back. I want to see what it feels like, for just a second.”

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Hm?" Booker glanced at her. "Sure." And with that he moved, positioning himself vertically in the water again. He pulled her a little closer to him before he gently flipped her over. One upper arm supported the small of her back, while his other supported her shoulder blades, keeping her adrift. "You know, you can stay afloat without a single movement too." He said, as if sharing an old secret that had been passed down from generation to generation. He caught a small sign of interest and smirked. "Again; I'm not letting go. Just try the following:" He pushed himself a little more into her before he continued, his chest against the side of her waist. "Spread your arms and legs, try to make yourself as big as possible. Letter X. Yeah, just like that. Now just tilt your head backwards, little further into the water, I got you. Arch your back--No, other way. Make it hollow, otherwise you'll sink. Chest up in the air." Booker watched her follow his instructions, unexpectedly confronted with Elizabeth’s practically naked body. The thin wet fabric stuck to her skin, perky breasts with pink nipples showing, hard in the cold water despite the warm sun shining down on her. Shit, he hadn't really thought this through in his enthusiasm, had he? Oh well, just...focus. He glanced at the edge of the lake, vaguely tempted to let his gaze roam to her hips, between her spread legs, thinking of the previous night, but he refrained himself. "How's that?" he asked to distract himself, barely feeling her weight on him. She was floating pretty fine.

 **Elizabeth::** She followed Booker’s instructions tentatively at first, and he handled her like one of those wild but tender animals that for some reason hung around a source of danger when it normally had the good sense to bolt.  But, Elizabeth did as she was told, feeling her heart pound as she found herself spread open arms and legs going into that X shape he talked about. Put her chest into the air…okay, Elizabeth immediately felt the warmth of the sun on her sensitive breasts and it felt _so_ good. Heat at long last. She felt the current caress her sex as her pelvis tipped back in relaxation, the cool touch of water gently lapping her lips parting them open slightly. A touch that Elizabeth found herself liking, it caused _stirrings_ between her legs; an aching build-up of pressure as she lay back in the water with Booker’s arms around her. Parts of her dream from last night suddenly sprung upon her unsuspecting mind, ambushing the inexperienced girl with…with what? Desire, she supposed. The urge to touch herself made that place in her body burning hot with tension despite being surrounded by cold water. The thought of relieving herself of that need in front of Booker terrified her, and yet the pulse of blood rushing in her body said otherwise. Spread out and vulnerable being gently held up by the water was a sensual experience, and Elizabeth was glad of the cold because she then had a legitiment reason to shudder in Booker’s arms. _Booker._ Maybe _he_ should stroke her sex for her. Much to her chagrin, Elizabeth could see him doing it; Booker’s long fingers rubbing the folds of her swollen flesh until he found that diminutive but oh so sensitive organ that gave her pleasure; massaging it with his calloused fingers until she moaned in relief.  The hot sun beat down on Elizabeth’s face and body and she wondered if her slip had shifted in the current of the water, pushing it up a little further and her eyes closed shut to avoid the bright sun light and her shame. Those strong arms held her just a little firmer against him and Elizabeth’s heart leapt into her throat. And she felt completely paralyzed by the soothing embrace of the water and the adrenaline suddenly surging through her veins. Elizabeth was like an exquisite little butterfly caught in a sticky web of conflicting feelings. She didn’t _dare_ move, worried that she would do the wrong thing by accident. Wait... why should I care if Booker sees my body? Because you want him to touch you, was the answer. Do not. Do _too_. Back and forth the argument went in her mind, but when Booker asked how she was, Elizabeth sighed and finally murmured, “wonderful.” It _was_ wonderful…if wonderful was hell. Look but don’t touch.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker looked at her face as she replied with her eyes closed. She seemed to enjoy the sensation of the water holding her up, but unbeknownst to Booker it was not only that which made her feel wonderful. He found himself thinking that he could gaze at her body now that she wasn't looking. She wouldn't see him watching her. Wouldn't catch him. Would be oblivious to his admiring gaze. It was a tiny opportunity. One the he shouldn't make use of, but it was one that he _wanted_ to make use of. It was wrong. So very wrong to look at his daughter that way. What way? Lustful? No no, not lustful, of course not, that's sick, Booker told himself. So if it wasn't lust, why was he so afraid he'd get caught? Wasn't it merely a form of admiration for what he had created? A beautiful young woman? Look at her in the same way you'd look at a self-made masterpiece? One quick glance wouldn't hurt them, but... You must keep your eyes closed. Do not open them. His green eyes roamed her body, he looked at her fine chest raised in the warm air with her hardened nipples, water lapping at her sides. At the way her belly curved with her back hollow. At the vaguely see-through underwear, her legs spread and-- _Enough._ He ripped his gaze away, looking back at her face. Her eyes were closed, wonderful. He felt relieved at that somehow. "I'm gonna flip you over onto your stomach, let's see if you can swim a bit."  He announced before he gently flipped her over, holding her horizontally in his arms, her perky breasts and pelvis out of sight, but not out of mind. "Make circling movements, see if you can get forward with it, I'll go along with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and see you next time! Updates are continuing on schedule.


	4. Suffer For Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As swimming lessons continue tempers flare between father and daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning!!! Aquaphobia, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, self-harm. This is another potientally triggering chapter and a prime example of some exceptionally unhealthy communication.

**Elizabeth::** Booker suddenly but carefully flipped her body over and Elizabeth didn’t protest. He was the one who knew what he was doing here, not her. And she was damn grateful for the opportunity to forget about the burning fire in her groin. “Okay,” she simply replied before diligently committing her limbs to the task. She made the movements with her legs first before she engaged her arms. She sent little ripples of water into Booker’s chest as she attempted to move forward in the cold liquid. Elizabeth had a vague fantasy of slipping from his grasp and sinking to the bottom of the lake like a stone. She shook off the morbid thought like an annoyed person would shoo away a fly at a otherwise pleasant picnic.  Elizabeth was sorta getting the feel for the motion, but it felt rather clumsy to her. Maybe she was just a creature of the land, but still learning to swim was pretty valuable. Elizabeth paused for a moment, and fixed her blue eyes on Booker, “I still have no idea what you’re trying to get me to do.”

 **Booker DeWitt::** The man laughed lightly at that, shaking his head. "Trying to make you swim by yourself, I can't _always_ hold you like this, y'know. You gotta know how to do it by yourself." He told her, adjusting his grip on her. "Try again." He urged her. As she clumsily swam Booker moved along, testing her weight. Hmm... She seemed to be doing alright. He could let go, and she'd still stay afloat, or so he thought. "Just keep going." He mumbled as he briefly lowered his hands a bit to test his assumption, keeping his arms underneath her.

 **Elizabeth::**  The girl was too busy concentrating to utter a smart ass reply. Of course he couldn’t hold her up forever, but Elizabeth didn’t think that they had been at it for too long.  Damn Booker and his impatience, he would have been a terrible father. _Is_ a terrible father the more logical part of her brain annoyingly reminded her. What? He shows her two maybe three things and suddenly she can do it _all_ on her own?! Well, if he was so eager for her independence so _soon_ Elizabeth would give it to him.  The fire of anger lit in her stomach and spread throughout her body warming her extremities. She kept on repeating the motion, Elizabeth’s movements grew more confident and fluid as time went on; her goal not so much to learn how to swim now, but to lash out in anger. Elizabeth felt the warm presence of Booker’s body lessen. Her small feet pushed off his chest powering her legs forward swimming away from him, putting distance between herself and the long safe reach of his arms.  Oh, look she was swimming, yeah because she was _pissed_ off.  As her small lithe form cut through the water, Elizabeth discovered that it was way more comfortable if she just mainly relied on her legs to move her and used just her upper body to mostly guide herself into a direction. Elizabeth bobbed in the water turning herself around making those circling motions to face Booker. When he saw Elizabeth’s face the smile that Booker initially had completely disappeared when he saw the spiteful expression that had transformed her beautiful features into a hard mask of animosity. That’s right asshole, _fuck_ you. Elizabeth gave him the finger and all at once stopped moving, letting herself sink into the cold water like a small dense brick.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth's feet pushed into him, giving her the leverage to push off of him, speeding away. He hadn't expected her to go so far immediately, didn't seem like a wise idea. She was throwing herself in the deep out here. But...she seemed to be doing fine, moving away from him. He was a bit worried about letting her go so soon, even though he had been patient with her. Was she really ready for this kind of independence in the water already? She did fine, using her legs to keep moving, the movement keeping her near the surface. Yeah, not bad. She learned quick. She was good. Once he saw the harsh look on her face he grew a little confused. Was it from strain, struggling to swim? Was the effort too much for her? Did she need a break? No no, it wasn't quite like that, it felt hostile for whatever reason. Defiant. Bit defensive. Had he done something wrong? What was up with that? She flipped him the bird, and before Booker realized what was wrong she suddenly disappearing under the surface. Booker's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. That hadn't been on purpose, had it!? Shit. As quick as he could he swam over to her, diving down. The water was dark as it always was, but the sun shone enough for him to see the contours of her pale body. His heart was racing, quickly using whatever oxygen he had inhaled. He grabbed her by her arm, pulling her into his body as he swam up. His arm constricted around her waist, keeping her against him. Booker gasped for air as they reached the surface, water splattering up. Concerned eyes glanced at her, free hand feverishly wiping the dark locks from her face. "What the hell, Elizabeth!" His yelling sounded more upset than actually angry. Her legs had ended up lazily wrapping around him just above his hips, her pelvis against his belly. Booker kept holding her close, his arms around the small of her back now, afraid to let go of her.

 **Elizabeth::** She gasped for air when Booker brought them to the surface. Her small form was mashed against his masculine frame and it vaguely reminded her of how he had slammed her into the kitchen wall yesterday. She was torn between the instinct to say put, where the strength and warmth of Booker’s body kept her safe and the urge to just shove him away from her. Get out of the water and away from him. Once Booker pushed the wet locks of hair from her face Elizabeth fixed him with a glare from her brilliant blue eyes that stood out even more with the sunlight bouncing off the water to reflect light into them, her pupils were contracted so the specs of gold around them were more noticeable. Her eyelashes were matted together with water and there were also some droplets still on her lips, she looked like a water nymph, a very _angry_ water nymph. On the outside Elizabeth was soft and delicate, but her spine was made of steel, she was never afraid of Booker, a man who inspired intimation at its finest without even trying hard. “ _Patience,_ Booker, do you _know_ what it is?” Elizabeth seethed.  “It’s an essential quality that a teacher possesses in order to pass on knowledge, and it’s the _learner_ that sets the baseline of where that is, _not_ the person doing the teaching.”

 **Booker DeWitt::** The look that she gave him was one that could be described as a look of pure loathing. Angry tiny pupils fixed upon him, staring him down, her body tense and looking ready to fight or flee. What the hell was she looking at him like that for? What had made her so angry? He didn't understand, that may be the worst of all. But, soon Elizabeth opened her mouth, telling him just what was wrong with him and his behavior. Patience, that's what it boiled down to. According to her he lacked the patience necessary to teach her properly. Hadn't he been patient with her? In Booker's mind he'd been very calm, barely pushing her, mustering the patience to teach her. But it wasn't enough. Booker thought he'd been doing well when it came to being patient, but in reality was that he pushed too far and too quick. He hadn't even realized it, which made her words sting at his own incompetence to see his mistake. Was it really that bad? Judging by her reaction, he assumed it was. Dammit. "Well _excuse me_ for not being the best teacher material." Booker snapped back, though he lowered his tone to a less hostile one once he continued speaking. He attempted to not let this escalate into another bickering. He let out a small sigh. "Look, just...Tell me then if I go too far. I can't sniff it out."

 **Elizabeth::**    The harsh look in Elizabeth’s eyes still remained. Anger was still coursing its way through her veins. “ _You_ dare get defensive with _me_? All the while I’m literally at the risk of drowning?” She said contemptuously, rolling her eyes. “I think I have been more than understanding with you, Booker DeWitt. I _know_ you,” Elizabeth warned. “And yeah, no shit, you don’t know when you take something too far, but you and I both know that you practically need a fucking gun to your head to see what’s really going on.” She stated with a rather cruel smile. “So you better lose that fucking pride of yours or this is _never_ going to work. Don’t  look at me like that,” Elizabeth growled her voice dropping lower staring Booker down. “ _You’re_ the one who chose to live in a numb comatose state for twenty years. Well, time to wake up Sleeping Beauty, feelings _hurt_ and this world is a spiteful bitch, and so am I.” She was completely sweet… _once_ …but almost all of that sweetness was ripped from her the six months she lingered in torture, not knowing if she would live or die, whether it was night and day, feeling stupid for trusting him. Love and mercy, Elizabeth had to sacrifice one in order to get through her ordeal, and ironically enough she was still too empathetic to ever consider losing the ability to love.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker bit back his angry retorts, jaws clenched in effort. She wouldn't drown. He wouldn't let her. It was as simple as that. He had all the right to be defensive. Hell, she had terrified him by going underwater like that. That wasn't his fault, that was completely her doing. How she chose to react to his impatience was her own business. She could've just told him, but no, she had to go and make a point in a more physical way, putting herself at risk. He grew angrier with her every word, mild scowl at his face. Elizabeth didn't appreciate his look and told him so with a growl. In general, Booker was not a proud man, which was not surprising with all the things he had done. But, because of that, he clung fiercely to the small things that he _was_ proud of whenever they occurred. A man bound to false pride.  If he gave up his false pride, what else would he have left? Well, he'd have a chance at communicating better with Elizabeth for starters, his pride and ego no longer hindering him. That was easier said than done, though. He didn't deny her being a spiteful bitch. As a father he should've, soothing his girl, but Booker did no such thing. In fact, he agreed with her. She had vindictive tendencies, held grudges, and hit him where it hurt whenever she got the chance during a verbal fight. He loathed her for that. The innocent sweet girl she had been had died a long time ago in Comstock House, he knew that. He didn't try to change her. She was who she was, for better or worse, just like him, and he accepted that. The only thing he would try to change were her self-destructive urges. Booker glanced at the bandage around her wrist. He tried to let his anger slide off of him. Deep breath. Focus. You're not gonna fight _against_ her here. Right... "I'll try to be more patient." Booker mumbled eventually as he put his pride aside, avoiding her piercing gaze. Inside Booker was still boiling with anger, but he gave in to her. He'd try. That was the best he could do. He let her slide from him, tensing momentarily as she brushed past his crotch because of it. He held his hands at her waist, still supporting her.

 **Elizabeth::** Booker muttered his capitulation under his breath, and he avoided looking at her directly in the eyes. His hands were still at her waist but she slid further away from him, his body tensing up briefly. Elizabeth tilted her head and lowered it a bit for a better look at his face. She still saw the rage burning brightly in his green eyes. She wished she knew what Booker wanted, what he needed. So Elizabeth did the only thing she thought she could do. She treaded water closer to him and gently raised a hand to the side of his face caressing the wet stubble. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I know it’s a struggle, but just try to remember that _anything_ worth having, worth fighting for is never easy.” Elizabeth gently turned Booker’s lowered head towards her, and when they finally met eye to eye.” Am I not worth having?” Elizabeth whispered gently her voice wavering and modulating with emotion. She felt scalding moisture run down her cheeks, was that a tear?

 **Booker DeWitt::** DeWitt did not meet her gaze even though he felt her looking for eye-contact. He didn't know exactly why. Was it shame that made him avoid her look? Guilt? Regret? Could be any of those, or a painful mixture. She had trusted him to teach her properly, and he hadn't. Worst part was that he hadn't even fucking realized it. He thought everything was fine, thought he was being very patient with her, but instead he had been impatient as ever. He disappointed. Huh. Wasn't there something in his dream about that? Disappointment? He couldn't remember, and honestly, he was happy about that. He felt there was something in his nightmare that had him a bit spooked, but his memory either failed him or had suppressed it for him. One way or another, it was a painful realization that he hadn't lived up to her reasonable expectation. He was angry at himself for it. Shit, he did a lousy job...It was why he couldn't look her in the eye. It was because he disappointed her. Booker's thoughts escalated at that, quietly spiraling out of control, going to places where he didn't want them to go. He often disappointed her, didn't he? Hell, that was an euphemism. He _constantly_ disappointed her. For god's sake, he fucking _sold_ her as a kid. He betrayed her in the airship for his own good, leading her on for his own benefit to wipe away the debt. He hadn't been able to save her in time from Comstock House either. And now that they were finally out, free, having their own little house with their own way of living, he _still_ fucking _disappointed_ her. Goddamn...He was a disappointing father, and a disappointing friend, he was a disappointing _human being_. He tried, he really did, but it got nowhere close to his ways being acceptable. It was never good enough. _He_ was never good enough. Never had been, never would be. A constant. That comatose state that Elizabeth had mentioned sounded like a pretty tempting option right about now. 

Elizabeth's touch abruptly dragged him out of his self-loathing thoughts. Cold hand against his warm cheek, fingers subtly brushing over his stubble, a comforting caress. She thanked him for his attempt to better himself he assumed, but Booker did not react to that, glancing at the rippling water instead. She acknowledged that he struggled with trying to be patient, telling him that some things just took effort to get, even more so when they were valuable. She was right. What you wanted wouldn't just fall in your lap, you needed luck for that, which was something else he lacked. You had to fight for it, tooth and nail. In the same way he had fought his utmost to get out of Columbia. That was a different kind of fighting, a more physical and, in a sense, an easier one. You knew what you were fighting against. In this case, it was more difficult. If you couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with yourself, how were you supposed to change it? With a gentle grip Elizabeth turned his head towards her, the two finally making eye-contact. Her voice almost cracked as she spoke, a tear running down from the corner of her eyes. "Hey," His demeanor changed almost immediately, as quick as his reflexes. This wasn't about him. This was about her. "You're worth fighting for." While he spoke his hand snaked up around the back of her head. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together almost instinctively, looking at her. "Don't _ever_ forget that." His fingers dug into her wet hair. "I fought for you then, and I will _always_ keep fighting for you, y'hear me?" He looked at her in earnest, feeling an immense protectiveness which he attributed to his paternal instincts.

 **Elizabeth::**   She felt Booker’s fingers firmly dig into her wet hair. Their foreheads came together, green eyes staring into her blue ones, she felt the warmth of his breath and she felt his words in her heart. Instinctively, her slender arms wrapped around Booker’s larger frame, pulling him into an embrace.  She could taste the salt of her tears still, but Elizabeth gave him a weak smile before she whispered, “and I will always chose _you_ and I will _never_ give up on you.” She pressed her smooth, full lips into Booker’s mouth bestowing him with a brief and chaste kiss. But, her lips didn’t linger long on his, Elizabeth’s lips descending upon him was like a butterfly that briefly landed on your shoulder for a split second before it flew away. And just like a butterfly tastes with its feet, her full mouth absorbed the texture of Booker’s lips. His mouth was soft, and plush even though it was surrounded by prickly stubble, velvety almost, like the petals of a rose. She pressed the side of her face into Booker’s warm, scarred chest damp with water droplets with a small sigh.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth's arms wrapped around him, bringing their bodies closer in the cool water. She spoke of how she would always choose him, not deserting him, despite him being a blunt stubborn asshole. Words that no one had ever said to him. Reassuring. Her words comforted him, and she gave him a peck on the lips, brief but firm. There was a faint hint of a smile on his face at the benevolent gesture. Naturally he hadn't reciprocated, just taking in the affectionate but chaste kiss. She may be cold and cruel at times, but she wasn't heartless, not at all. She cared, in her own way, more outspoken than Booker about her feelings, and it made him feel just a tad better. Despite her ordeals she still was sweet at times.  He embraced her with both arms, holding her tight, her face pressed to his chest. Yeah, they would be alright. They just needed some time to work on things. Communication, first and foremost. Booker enjoyed holding his daughter, something he wished he could've done so much earlier. With both of his arms enveloping her he had to put his legs to work just a bit more to keep afloat, resulting in him brushing against Elizabeth's legs at times, but he didn't seem to mind now that they were holding each other anyway. "So, what would you _like_?" He asked eventually, taking her wishes and limits into account. "Keep swimming, or go catch a break?"

 **Elizabeth::** She felt a lot better when they were in close contact like this, it made the world seem a less depressing place.  She felt the ripples of water hit her body as Booker worked to keep them afloat with his legs, every once in a while she felt a leg rub against hers. Elizabeth pulled back just a little from Booker looking thoughtful. Hmm…she was a bit hungry, maybe they could stop for some lunch or something. Then they could get back in the water or do something else. But, if Booker wanted to keep swimming she didn’t want to take her shower just yet. “Hmm…well I was thinking about some lunch. Did you want to keep swimming some more after we eat or do something else? Because if you want to keep swimming, I can just fix something really quick and bring it out here for us. What do you think?” She asked inquisitively.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Lunch actually did sound like a good idea to the ever-hungry Booker. Stock up on energy, swimming took a lot out of him. "I'd like to keep swimming for a bit longer, let's just fix something quickly then." Booker said, loosening his embrace a bit, hands sliding back down to her waist. He wasn't tired of swimming just yet. It had grown even warmer now that the sun was up, and he'd like to stay in the refreshingly cool lake. He swam back to the edge of the lake on his back, his legs moving them forward. Like earlier he gently dragged Elizabeth along. Once he got to the edge he straightened up again. Now that he had some footing he could lift her up, and he gently sat her down on the warm grass. "Could you give me an extra portion?" He asked, not really caring about what she'd fix for them, as long as he had a decent meal. Swimming with a full stomach did not seem to phase Booker in any way shape or form. As she went back inside Booker pushed himself out of the water. He took a small break, nestling back in the grass, tucking his hands behind his head. He let out a content sigh, basking in the warm sun. Yeah, today was a nice day.

 **Elizabeth::** The girl smiled on her way back to the house. It didn’t surprise her that Booker wanted a bit extra, he was a tall man and he burned through a lot of fuel. Dripping wet she walked into the house shutting just the screen door behind her and was smothered in a wave of heat. Yeah, staying cool sounded like a good idea. Hmm…what would she make them? Something cool or room temperature, they didn’t need any extra warmth in their bodies. The ruthless summer sun was enough as it was. Sandwiches sounded like a good option…with some refreshing fruit. And so Elizabeth set to making their lunch, first she took a loaf of bread and cut  six slices because she would be making two sandwiches for Booker not just one. Then she got out a tomato and a cucumber, some cheese and some left over slices of a turkey from dinner a night or two ago.  Elizabeth put all of this together fairly quickly but there was only enough meat for two of the sandwiches, which suite her just fine. She could easily go without it, Elizabeth wasn’t feeling any particular cravings for it. Elizabeth fetched two smalls bowl from the cupboard and stacked the sandwiches on top of each other, the other bowl she filled with fresh strawberries after she had rinsed them off in the sink.  There, that would work and the strawberries would also hydrate them as well. Elizabeth arranged the bowls at the curve of her waist and headed back outside.  A strong gust of wind blew at her back cooling her, but the thin slip she wore didn’t budge since it was still soaking wet and clinging to her like a second skin. Elizabeth’s head was cast down as she walked to avoid getting the sun in her eyes, as she headed in Booker’s general direction looking at the warm green grass beneath her feat than Booker himself.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker dozed off lightly in the heat that was still comfortable now that the water stuck to his skin. It evaporated quickly, his boxers sticking to him at a few spots. His breathing was calm, the sound of the wind in the grass soothing him. It was a sound he had grown to like over the past months. So very different from the bustling traffic in New York. This was a much more soothing alternative. Though, he felt he would not enjoy the quiet as much if he didn't have Elizabeth around to talk to at times. Booker was a loner, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate some mild form of company. It wasn't as black and white as that. As always, he woke from his slumber and snoozing at the sound of footsteps. No matter what surface they were on ; it alerted him. A trigger that would probably never really leave his system unless he was entirely knocked-out. So, he sat up, imprints of the blades of grass visible on his back. He glanced at Elizabeth who walked towards him. Her thin gown was still wet. Wet and especially see-through because of it. He could see the fabric sticking to her tiny breasts, her nipples attention drawing spots, just like the patch of hair between her legs and-- Booker subtly looked back at the lake as if he was enjoying the view. He ignored the twitch at his crotch. He'd liked his first view better, but did not admit that to himself. She took place next to him. "What'd you get us?" He asked, unable to see what was in the bowl from this angle.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth bent at the waist sinking to the ground as slowly as she could until she was perched on the back of her heels. “I brought us some sandwiches with turkey, cucumber, cheese, and tomatoes, in addition to the bowl of strawberries I have here” she said smiling as she sat her items down between them. “Food that will fill our stomachs without over heating us,” Elizabeth elaborated with a gleam of cleverness in her blue eyes. She scooped up her sandwich that was at the top of the stack, so she could hand over the bowl with the ones she had specifically made for him. The sun was still in her face but Elizabeth saw the vague shape of Booker’s profile as his arm stretched out to take the bowl from her. He sat the bowl down in his lap, as Elizabeth took a bite from her sandwich. Mmmm…yes this was a good idea. Very good combination of flavors, I should have put some pepper on my tomatoes though. Oh, well she would do it next time. Elizabeth kept her legs folded beneath her, even though she would have been more comfortable just sitting cross legged. But, that would have been extremely inappropriate, so Elizabeth perched rather than sat as she devoured her sandwich growing more irritated with the sun in her eyes. Elizabeth swallowed a bite and cursed. “God damn it…I’m too lazy and too hungry to move into the shade.” She needed both of her hands to hold onto her food, not wanting to risk losing a slice of tomato or cucumber by having it slip out between her pieces of bread. With both of her hands committed to her sandwich she couldn’t shield her eyes like she normally would have.  “Booker, tell the sun to get out of my face,” Elizabeth joked dryly, turning her gaze towards the lake instead so she wouldn’t be blinded anymore.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Sounds good." Booker took the bowl from Elizabeth, lowering it into his lap. Both to catch whatever would fall off of his sandwich and to cover up his crotch. He didn't quite trust his body at the moment with her practically naked body near. Not being in the water with her made a difference somehow. He could barely look at her now, and not only because of the bright sun. However, he did shoot her a quick glance as she cursed. What was it? Bothered by the bright sun, huh... Yeah, she definitely didn't inherit his skin structure. Booker tanned relatively easy, especially now that he was outside so often lately. It made his scars stand out just a little more. Elizabeth on the other hand was more prone to burning. She may adapt easily, but her skin did not. She was a lot more like her mother when it came to that, preferring to stay in the shade. Booker took a large bite of his sandwich, chewing at a steady pace as he glanced back at the lake. Hmmm, didn't taste half-bad... He swallowed, taking another bite, hastened. Juicy slices of tomatoes, cold cucumber, nice cheese and some tasty turkey that they still had left over from a few days ago. He adjusted the bowl in his lap a bit, smirking at Elizabeth's comment as he swallowed his bite. "Leave her the hell alone." Booker said with raised voice as he tipped his chin up, supposedly talking to the sun. He waited for a little while, a dramatic pause. He looked down at the bowl again, shaking his head. "It's no good. Damn bastard is too stubborn to listen. Who _does_ that?" He said with a grin, shooting her a vaguely playful glance. He finished his first sandwich, wiping his hand on his boxers. Hm? Strawberries? He glanced at the bowl between them. Don't mind if I do. A large hand went over to the strawberries, grabbing a few of them and directly bringing them to his mouth. He enjoyed the taste, though it couldn't be called savoring as he stuffed them in his mouth at once. Moderation, Booker, moderation... He wouldn't want to eat all of them right under her nose. He'd take one at the time from now on, maybe that would slow him down a bit. He started his second sandwich, slowly but surely getting more filled up, body eagerly taking in the new supply of energy. Booker didn't specifically look at the bowl as he grabbed around for another strawberry, being surprised when his hand touched Elizabeth's. He immediately withdrew in a reflex at the unexpected touch. Hm... He let her go first before he grabbed one for himself. Now that his worst hunger was satiated he focused more on the taste of the strawberry, eating it slowly.

 **Elizabeth::**  She giggled at Booker’s playful banter feeling the urge to give him another affectionate kiss. If he could make fun of himself there was hope yet. The both of them ate ravenously in relative silence, seeking to quite their appetites. They were pretty synchronized in their movements as they ate, only going for the same strawberry once; their hands accidentally bumping into each other. She frowned when he recoiled from the touch of her hand, hmmm maybe it was because he hadn’t seen it coming. A rather playful idea sprung into her head as Elizabeth saw Booker bite into a strawberry, his straight white teeth cutting the fruit in half.  She wiped her hands on the grass, heart beating just a little faster. Why should she be nervous with showing Booker her affection? And why the hell should she refrain from embracing her own family when she had been isolated from simple human touch for so long? When Elizabeth stood up there were blades of grass sticking to her knees, and she swiftly moved herself behind Booker’s back lowering herself back down to the ground. She got back down on her knees and impulsively hugged him from behind.  Elizabeth’s thin arms wrapped around Booker’s warm chest as she pressed her upper body into his back and squeezed deceptively strong for such a tiny woman. She didn’t think about the shape of her breasts or her prominent nipples pressing into Booker’s back as she embraced him; only the warmth that radiated off his body and the need to be closer to him. She felt the prickle of goose bumps crawl down his scarred skin, his body twitched, “I’m sorry if I’m cold, I just don’t retain heat like you do,” Elizabeth apologized, but not letting go of him. “You are my shade when the whole world would let me burn,” she stated, talking out loud more to herself than Booker as she nestled into his broad back resting her cheek on a shoulder blade with a content sigh. Elizabeth molded herself to his scarred skin clinging to him like symbiotic moss growing on a gnarled tree.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Once Elizabeth got to her feet Booker assumed it was because she'd head back inside for a drink or something, but he was far from right. She took a few tiny steps in his direction instead, and soon he felt her arms around him, her chilly chest pressed against his back. The sudden change of temperature made his skin crawl, the hairs in his necks stand up right. But it was not the cold alone that made his body react as such, it was the whole gesture. It was intimate and well-meant, clinging to him. Things would be okay eventually. He felt her soft breasts push into him, but as the rest of her body pressed against him too it was hard to determine what parts of her flesh were her breasts. It all mixed into one cold bunch for him at that point. She apologized, aware of the cold she provided in this summer heat. Well, it'd warm up soon enough, Booker was warm, it would even out. Her words were endearing, but he didn't react to them, silently enjoying the touch he didn't know he craved, It was protective in some way, being hugged from behind. She got his back in more ways than one. Booker reached for another strawberry, slowly eating it, letting the taste of the sweet juice fill his mouth. Good thing he had some strawberries planted in his garden too. He loved the little fruit; it was sweet like candy but much fresher. Elizabeth's body warmed up under the heating that was Booker Dewitt and under the sun. Hm, maybe they should go swim under the tree that partially hung over the lake, there would be more shade there. Even if the water was cool and refreshing; fact was that you burned more easily in the water. He didn't wish an itchy and painful skin upon Elizabeth, they'd have to take care of that. "Let's swim over there next." He announced, giving a nod in the direction of the tree. "Should prevent sunburn."

 **Elizabeth::**  She raised her head from Booker’s shoulder feeling much warmer than she had before. She sat up straighter with her arms still around his chest and rested her small chin at the crook of Booker’s neck. Elizabeth looked across the lake in the direction he nodded, she stared at the tree and shuddered. “Looks cold, but whatever you say,” she replied, the baby soft cheek of her warm face lightly resting against the rough stubble of Booker’s neck.  Her sharp eyes spotted the last strawberry that was in the bowl. She stared at it longingly and mesmerized Elizabeth watched Booker pick it up, holding the fruit between his long fingers. Booker almost got it into his mouth when cat quick Elizabeth’s own slender fingers deftly snatched it from his grasp. She placed the piece of fruit into her own mouth, enjoying the gush of sweet juice that suddenly filled it as she bit down. “Thanks,” Elizabeth murmured cheerfully, turning her body just right to plant another light kiss on Booker’s mouth, tasting of strawberries before she suddenly let go of him and rose to her feet. “Alright, Booker… Lead on.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker found himself liking her cheek lightly brushing against him, made him feel connected to her somehow. Bonding just a little bit. Just like Elizabeth, Booker had noticed the last strawberry. Yeah, that one was for him. He didn't offer it to Elizabeth; he wanted it himself. And so, he picked it up between his long fingers, emptying the bowl. He brought it to his mouth, but Elizabeth unexpectedly snatched it from his own, quick as a cat. His head cocked to the side at that, and before he had the chance to protest she already had it in her mouth. "Hey--" He said a bit offendedly as he saw her chewing. She silenced his mild complaint with a 'thanks' and another peck on the lips. Hm... Well, whatever, it didn't _really_ matter, he supposed. It was only a strawberry. A strawberry that he could now taste on her lips. Booker subtly licked his own lips, tasting the thin remainder of juice as she got back to her feet. Booker followed her example after he wiped his mouth, removing the sandwich bowl from his lap and placing it inside the strawberry bowl. He stood up, rolling his shoulders lightly before he walked back to the edge of the lake. Again, he dove in, but without a sprint at this time. Once he resurfaced he got a bit closer to the edge again, holding up both hands for Elizabeth, waiting until her waist came into reach. He glanced at her, her gown still damp, but not soaking anymore. Still, that didn't take away the fact that he could easily make out her body underneath. Well, he was in cold and dark water now, it should be alright. He wasn't too worried about his crotch showing interest where there was none, it's not like she was masturbating in front of him. Shit, don't think about that. He took hold of her, lowering her into the water with a small splash. And again he swam on his back in that relaxed way, calmly bringing them over to the large tree with the shade, the sun no longer scorching them in the cool shade. "Much better..." Booker mumbled, the heat of his own body keeping him warm enough already.

 **Elizabeth::**   “Yeah…sure,” Elizabeth mumbled, shivering in the water, goose flesh covering every square inch of her body.  She floated just a little bit closer to Booker drawn to his warm like a moth to a flame. “So…I feel like I should ask questions. This lake is pretty calm, but what would you do if you were swimming in a storm? Could you go against the current or is that _always_ a bad idea?” she inquired looking up at him with curious blue eyes.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Huh..." Booker thought about it for a while, floating calmly on his back. He was smart enough to avoid swimming during a storm. But, he had swum in reasonably heavy weather in the sea before, a very long time ago. When he still lived with his father. They had expected good weather when they went to the beach, but luck wasn't on their side. But, it was a waste to not go swimming after they'd gone all this way just to get there. Booker hadn't minded, he liked the water, unaware of its dangers at the time. In hindsight he wondered if his father had even kept an eye on him, but his gut told him that wasn't the case. That didn't seem like him. "Well, you could go in against the current, but it takes a lot of energy. The thing about stormy water is that the waves are very high, so you could be swimming _inside_ a wave and not be able to get to the surface." Booker explained to her with the best of his ability. "In that case I _suppose_ it's better you go in against the current so that you swim out of the wave." He said thoughtfully, his gaze meeting hers. "Still dangerous, though...Just don't go swimming during stormy weather. Water is tricky. Suction can drag you down unexpectedly. Even in lakes, so watch out for that." He added, parental concern kicking in. "Doesn't matter if you're an experienced swimmer or not; water doesn't care about you." He said, only then realizing this may not be the best subject for when they were in the water. Didn't want to scare her off. "But, swimming feels goddamn good. In a lake like this it's no problem." He said in a reassuring way.

 **Elizabeth::**   “Hmm…just like shooting a gun feels God damn good, but there’s always the chance you left the safety off by accident and wind up shooting yourself in the foot?” Elizabeth asked with an amused expression. “I’m not easily scared, remember?” she gently added lifting her eyebrows. “Now show me something that will warm me up,” Elizabeth half-demanded, her teeth lightly chattering. It just the way her body was, heat could be uncomfortable, but the cold was _insufferable_ to her.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Just like that." Booker replied to her with a lopsided grin. Right, something to warm her up, huh... Moving was the most important part of warming up. Just keep your body physically active. Hmm, crawling required a lot of physical strain, but he didn't think she was quite ready for that just yet. He was being _patient_ with her. Well, there was another way to warm her up. What he always did; go underwater entirely to make your _whole_ body used to the temperature. That way you could adapt better, and water that would seem icecold at first might become bearable. That could work. And then, maybe teach her how to tread water. If she wouldn't use her hands too to keep afloat it'd take some energy, making her warmer. "Right, go under. That will make you more used to the temperature." He told her, tightening the grip on her a bit just in case. "After that you can tread some water."

 **Elizabeth::**    ”Okay,” Elizabeth replied, nodding her head. She took a little breath and sunk into the dark water, the cold liquid enclosed around her and she squirmed. Elizabeth tried to stay just beneath the surface to get her body to acclimate more to the temperature, but soon she eventually rose. She was breathing a little raggedly, her thin body still struggling to process the shock of the cold water. “How do I tread water?” Elizabeth asked blinking her eyelashes rapidly, tiny droplets of water still clinging to them.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker glanced at her, the drops of water running down her face. He liked the look of it, her dark hair sticking to her face. "You just uhm..." How was he gonna explain this? It was difficult to explain something that came natural to you. He took her hands in his, placing them on his shoulders to hold onto so that he had his hands free. "You kinda trample in the water, like this." He made a similar movement with his hands. "Basically pushing yourself up to the surface with your feet repeatedly."

 **Elizabeth::**     Elizabeth pressed her fingers into the skin of Booker’s shoulders a bit more firmly as she kicked her feet. The movement was sort of odd feeling at first and her feet or legs constantly brushed against Booker’s thighs, but she hung in there and gradually her movements became more controlled barely generating any waves at all. She felt the weight of the water move when she shifted her leg up, then pressed down with her foot. Elizabeth liked to imagine herself squashing grapes beneath her feet, and soon she felt a bit warmer than before.  Once she was comfortable Elizabeth let go of Booker’s shoulders, the water line that was at her collar bone gently waved up and down revealing then concealing her chest. “Like this?”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker felt a surge of pride as she got the hang of it. She let go of him, being perfectly capable of keeping herself afloat this way now. That was good, slowly but surely she got closer to independence in the water. Booker gave a nod in response; just like that. He looked at how she kept pushing her self up, the water hungrily lapping at her chest, unable to drag her down any longer. Hmm...Should he make it just a tad more difficult for her? Put the bar a little higher? Would be good to train her. Was it patient enough? Might be. "You can try holding your hands above water as you tread for an extra challenge." He offered. "If you get tired just hold onto me, alright?"

 **Elizabeth::** She gave him a little smile at the suggestion, her dark eyelashes fluttered slightly. “Alright, no harm in trying I suppose.” Elizabeth raised her forearms out of the water, holding her hands up in the air in the universal sign of “I surrender.” Elizabeth found that she had to put forth a lot more energy in order to remain afloat. Her chest rose more out of the water, as the muscles in her legs worked to keep her afloat. She felt the water line go just below her nipples, then they were once again submerged, it was a peculiar sensation. But, the weight of the water eventually overpowered Elizabeth’s source of energy and she found herself slipping more and more underwater causing her to reach out for Booker, whose large hands immediately encircled her small waist for support. Elizabeth sucked in a gasp for air, “well…that was longer than I expected to last.” She said with a little laugh, her heart racing, the warmth of her exertion pleasantly spreading through her small frame.  Trickles of water ran down her face and neck in thin streams, droplets hung from her eye lashes again resting on the surface of her dark pink mouth.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Elizabeth struggled to keep afloat, but keep afloat she did. Longer than Booker expected she would even, she seemed determined to push herself until she really couldn't keep going, warming her body. Her chest rose from the water ever so lightly, and Booker did his best not to look at her nipples as her chest pushed forward. Unfortunately, he didn't succeed. He reprimanded himself mentally, glancing at her hands instead. It was hard to not look at what was right in front of him, water playing with her breasts. Eventually she was no longer able to keep up, the water dragging her down, and so she chose to reach out for him. His warm palms immediately supporting her at that, holding her up in the water. "Longer than I expected too." Booker admitted softly, glancing at her. How the water trickled down her skin, eyelashes stuck together and hair wavy. Her eyes bright and pupils small even in the shade, small blush at her face from the exercise. She was so goddamn beautiful... Another surge of pride. Genuine pride. _He_ had made such a beautiful creature. An amazingly alluring daughter. He felt the urge to kiss her forehead at that mere thought, but he didn't, instead just gazing at her in admiration. "So you feelin' a little warmer yet?" He said to break his own thoughts.

 **Elizabeth::**    She gave the man a crooked smile, her canines slightly showing. “Hmmm…well then I guess we’ve just found something in common then. _Neither_ of us know _me_ very well.” She could sense genuine affection from Booker, his green eyes were riveted to her. “And yes, I am feeling warmer. Thank you for asking,”” she answered him in a lower tone of voice.  “Should I try again?” Elizabeth asked, tilting her head to the side like a curious bird, showing off the elegant curve of her slender throat after she had caught her breath.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   "Do it." DeWitt said, in the same intonation as when he had told her to open up tears back in Columbia. He said it in that way on purpose, but spoke in a lower tone of voice too, not yelling at her like he normally would during a fight. It was quite the comparison. Do it, open up the tear for the motorized patriot! And now, do it, try holding your hands above the water again. Times had changed. They were safe now. Didn't have to worry about getting shot. Could carelessly stroll around. They weren't the Lamb and the False Shepherd anymore. They were just father and daughter, having gone through hell but coming out relatively okay.

 **Elizabeth::**    “Okay,” Elizabeth replied with a brief nod. Her small hands found their way to Booker’s chest and she gently pushed off, moving slightly away from him in the water.  She kept her hands in the air and once again started to tread water with movements of her legs. Elizabeth felt the water line play with her chest and wondered if she kicked hard enough how far she could power herself out of the water. Hmmm, she might as well find out. Elizabeth took a deep breath and let herself sink into the cold depths of the lake, holding out an index finger to indicate to Booker that she was fine, just trying something.  Her head finally went under water rushing in to cover her face, and she tread just below the surface. This isn’t so scary Elizabeth thought and she briefly opened her eyes beneath the murky liquid, locating Booker in the water by the waves he sent out as he kept himself afloat. He wasn’t that far away, but she would try to surprise him anyway. Elizabeth moved forward in the water trying to get as close to him as possible before she emerged to the surface again. Once she thought he was close enough, she put her slender legs to the test and powered herself up quickly and erupted from the water with a sudden splash. Elizabeth sucked in a great gulp of air, and her right hand went to her eyes, to clear the away some of the water so she could open them again.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker stomach turned when she immersed herself unannounced in the water. He was ready to make a move but Elizabeth's pointed index finger made him stop. Told him to hold on for just a few seconds while she was doing whatever it was that she did. Booker waited, body tense but keeping back. Booker treaded water lazily, his hands slowly moving to keep him afloat too. He glanced at the vague contours of Elizabeth who was now fully underwater, not wanting to lose her out of sight. It was kinda hard to see in the shade, though. Booker flinched when she suddenly jumped up right in front of him, water splattering at his chest. Booker closed his eyes in reflex not wanting to get water in his eyes, backing away just slightly. So that's what she was doing, huh...Surprise him. Not bad...She seemed to grow more and more confident in the water. "Hm..." He mumbled lightly amused, looking at her satisfied smile for having startled him. Oh, just she wait. He saw it as a challenge. A challenge that he would win gloriously. He backed away from her, took a normal breath of air and dove under, the curved spine the last she could see of him. Booker dove low enough for him to be out of sight in the murky water, the layer of water cold since the sun didn't reach it. Yeah, he'd get her...Booker circled around her like a shark, not swimming close enough for his powerful strokes in the water to give away his location. He approached her with slower strokes now that he was low enough, at the height of her calves, positioned at her side. He smirked as he reached out, lightly tickling her foot with one hand, seeing her jerk it away in response. He had to laugh, air bubbles flying out of his mouth rapidly as he let himself float back to the surface, emerging behind her. He took a quick breath and continued his self-satisfied low laughter.

 **Elizabeth::**   She felt the brush of Booker’s long fingers against the sensitive skin of her foot and shivered, jerking it away. She turned around to the sound of his laughter, watching streams of water run down his face.  Booker’s green eyes sparkled with satisfaction framed by long dark eyelashes that were dripping water, the smile on his face was a lovely mix of amusement and affection. Like a mirror she returned his smile with one of her own. “You know you’re _very_ handsome when you smile, you should do it more often,” she told him with a smirk before taking a big breath and submerging herself in the water once again. She was still learning, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t make up for lack of experience with enthusiasm. Elizabeth didn’t quite dive so much as let herself sink beneath the water again. She let allowed herself to fall deeper in the lake, her goal in mind to be below the level of Booker’s feet. Elizabeth guessed at what that would be as she brought her legs together shaping her body to form a ball. She rolled forward, and used the speed of her legs to push herself forward, and swam between Booker’s long legs, her hands briefly touching his ankles to estimate where her body was in the water. Elizabeth came to the surface of the water quickly behind him, her breath was ragged from the exertion, but it was worth it to feel the man nearly jump out of his own skin when she grabbed his arm.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker laughed and huffed at her compliment. Had she been anyone else he would've capitalized on it. Would've retorted with a smooth comment, reeling her in with that sultry voice of his that was never used in Elizabeth's presence. No, that voice was reserved for the women he fucked. Drawing them in, make them long to hear more of him. Voice low, full of the promise of pleasure that only he was able to give them. A soft smile, an adoring gaze, a small touch, and that was all that there was to it. They'd be all his, the result of a successful hunt. But how was he supposed to react to such a compliment coming from his own daughter? He wasn't quite sure. Just thank her? He guessed, but it felt forced, so he just left it at the little huff. Very handsome, huh... Did she think of him as handsome when he wasn't laughing? Who knew. Maybe. Did it matter? Well, it did stroke his ego. Once more Elizabeth dove under when she caught her breath, towards him. His foot jerked away lightly as she touched his ankles. What was she doing? He hadn't expected her to actually swim between his legs. He did feel some suction of water brushing past his legs but he assumed it was just the lake itself. And so, he was startled when Elizabeth popped behind him and grabbed his arm. He whirled around, Elizabeth still holding onto him. He scoffed lightly. So, she'd swum between his legs, huh...That'd explain the suction. He turned around with a faint smirk, pushing her lightly against her shoulder with his outstretched fingertips, as if punishing her. "Damn, Elizabeth...You're gonna give your old man a heart attack at this rate." He commented dryly, carefully placing his hand at his heart to illustrate his point

 **Elizabeth::** The rough tips of Booker’s fingers pushed against Elizabeth’s shoulder, making her body go back a bit as the waves of water lapped at her skin.  Elizabeth did not feel sorry in the slightest at scaring him, and she rolled her eyes at his dry comment and exaggerated gesture. She laughed at him as she worked to keep treading in the water, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. It wasn’t a brief chuckle but it was a full throated laugh that just kept going, every time she looked at Booker her voice erupted into delicious little giggles. It felt wonderful, how long had it been since she had laughed like that with genuine delight? Had she ever laughed so hard? It grew harder to keep herself afloat while she hysterically laughed, but Elizabeth managed barely. “Oh, _please_ Booker. It takes a hell of a lot more than effort than _that_ to give you a heart attack. If you can tangle with a Handyman _repeatedly_ and live to tell the tale you’re practically scare proof,” she managed to sputtered out in between random bursts of laughter.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker laughed along with her, shoulders shaking. God, her laughter was goddamn nice to listen to. Contagious pleasant laughter, beautiful teeth on display as her luscious lips parted. Yeah, he liked that... Hell, he liked it when _he_ laughed which was quite the rare occasion. It wasn't as exuberant as Elizabeth's but it was still a little more than usual for him. His laughter died down to a grin as Elizabeth reminded him that it would be damn difficult to give Booker an actual heartattack, naming the example of the Handyman that would've beaten anyone else to death. Fair enough. "Oh, you overestimate me, my dear Elizabeth." He continued, playful glint in his eyes. "I'm _very_ sensitive, just the thought of facing a Handyman makes me shiver to the core." He said in a for him very overdramatic way. "My fragile heart weeps silently at the mere thought." He slowly turned his face to the side for that extra touch of drama, the hand at his heart now clenched to a fist, a feigned frown at his face.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth grinned from ear to ear, to see the hard man being playful made her _so_ happy her toes curled. “Well, if you put it _that_ way, you can hide behind me if you want. I’ll keep you safe.” She said carelessly, playfully, and a touch salacious. But, it was the kind of naughtiness that comes without being self-aware. Elizabeth reached for sarcasm but didn’t quite get that result. “I won’t tell nobody that you’re soft and squishy on the inside. _Promise_.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker glanced back at her, not really sure how to take her reply. It was too straightforward to be sarcastic, but her intonation was too playful to be taken serious. Hm... He couldn't really see it in a sarcastic way. She would keep him safe if she could, he knew that, which made it hard for him to take it as sarcasm. Unlike his own comments which were purely for entertainment her comment was truth hidden as a joke, or at least, that was how Booker saw it this very moment. Booker huffed lightly at her supposed offer to not tell anybody about how _very_ sensitive he was. "Appreciated." He answered, ruffling her hair lightly, and that was that.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth smiled softly at his words enjoying the feeling of his fingers toying with her damp hair. She floated closer to him and embraced him with a hug, resting the cheek of her face at the level of his sternum, letting her legs languidly float where ever they may. She could get used to this. Elizabeth never truly realized or appreciated how nice physical contact with somebody was. She had given plenty of hugs to Songbird, but it wasn’t the same. Her guardian was too big and bulky to return her embraces even though she knew he appreciated them. Her body rested against Booker as she enjoyed the silence for a moment.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   With one arm Booker reciprocated, wrapping it around her and pulling her just a bit closer. Goddamn, he had missed out on having a daughter. Difficult as she was at times, she was still wonderful. The playful banter he had never really had, discussing random topics, the instinctive touches and-- He subtly bucked away as Elizabeth's pelvis floated against his crotch. No no, not _those_ kind of touches. Dammit... Good thing she couldn't really see his face right now, hadn't seen how the content grin had almost instantly faded from his face at the touch. Shit, his mind was going in the wrong direction again. Curse his one-track mind. Still, he didn't think she had noticed, and he kept holding her, adam's apple bobbing up and down.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker wrapped an arm around Elizabeth’s small waist pulling her a little closer and she sighed contently.  Her lower body was floating free in the water and she wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to it. She just concentrated on feeling blissful. What was that? Elizabeth felt something beneath the water, but it was gone very quickly. Huh, she suppose it was her imagination playing tricks on her again. Although Elizabeth didn’t perceive Booker’s change in facial expression she felt his body tense lightly beneath her, and the wonderful, strong heart that had been beating so steady abruptly sped up. Elizabeth didn’t miss a thing. Was something wrong? She tried to think of things that could be wrong and her mind came up with frustrating blanks. There was no indication that he was upset with her, they were laughing, having a good time, what changed? Elizabeth didn’t know and was afraid to say anything because she didn’t want to be wrong in her interpretation. What if she said something and it was wrong and it started a whole other argument between them? She didn’t want that, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she felt like her stomach had been gutted from her body. Should she look at his face? It’s what she normally did whenever Elizabeth wanted to get a feel for what was going on inside his head. But, some part of her was whispering it was a bad idea. Damn. For all her maturity she wasn’t sure what she should do. Well, she didn’t want to move away, in fact Elizabeth wanted to pull herself even closer to him, but she didn’t because that could be a problem. She needed to think of something casual, something neutral to say, so she could hear his voice if something was really the matter without embarrassing herself. “I was thinking about maybe heading to the library tomorrow. Do you think you’d be up for heading into the city? We could always go for a swim after or before if you want.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   "Sounds good." He replied, voice having the same low vaguely indifferent tone it always had. The thought of going to the city had crossed his mind earlier. He was getting a bit pent up lately, it had been more than a week now since he'd had some sex. His body just craved it, and by going to the city he could hopefully persuade another woman to sleep with him. Yes, that was what he needed; a good fuck. Just to take the edge off of him, jacking off was good, but it didn't really compare. He needed that physical closeness. Last night when he had seen Elizabeth masturbate the sight of that had given him a boner because he was simply too pent up. His dick would get hard at _anything_ at that point. That was all that it was. It wasn't about sexual attraction to her personally or anything like that. Just because the sight of her pleasuring herself had made his _dick_ interested did not mean that _he_ was interested. The two worked separate. He just longed for some release that he hadn't had in a while. He did not want his daughter to turn him on, that was disgusting. Paradoxically it was one big turn-off that she turned him on. He didn't want that to happen. So, bottom of the line; he'd just have to have some more sex, satiate his need, for as far as possible. Prevent him from getting a hard-on too often in her presence, because that made him feel ashamed and angry at himself for not being able to control his own fucking body. He would have to tire his body out, in a sense. "We can swim a bit after." Booker said more to himself than to her.  "Or before, dunno, depends on the weather." He concluded with a light shrug. "Already finished your books on bees, huh?" He let her slide from his embrace, feeling he was pushing his boundaries when it came to how long a hug would be socially acceptable.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth shrugged effortlessly at his question, “you know how fast I read, Booker” she mused raising an eyebrow. “And besides keeping my interest is somewhat of a challenge these days,” Elizabeth added. Even my dreams are getting weirder, she thought privately to herself. Elizabeth had never minded masturbation, but she had always remained indifferent to it in an odd way. Sure it felt good to rub the sensitive little nodule that hid within the folds of flesh of her sex, satisfying the pulsing aches it could create between her legs was nice, but it was a _rare_ thing. Elizabeth had a sex drive, it was just more subconscious because all her life she had been very carefully sheltered in what she read or saw. So, her only point of reference for sexual contact was how she had already explored herself. Elizabeth knew how sex was supposed to “work” on a theoretical level but in her mind she never really put two and two together. She lacked the experience or physical evidence to arouse those thoughts. Which is why even as perplexing as her dream was last night, Elizabeth was fascinated by it. Any conscious touching on her part was rather benign because unlike Booker there were no raunchy thoughts in her head to spur her on. So, the dream was immensely interesting to Elizabeth because she remembered that she wasn’t just touching herself for the sake of her own pleasure, but she was doing it for the benefit of the being in her dream, making the experience so much more compelling. It gave the act a certain mystique that was missing while she was awake. “I want to see if I can find any books on extracting resin from trees. You know that’s how amber is eventually formed, and it preserves anything that gets caught in the sticky substance until it dries and hardens. I’d like to be able to see if I could preserve my rose in a block of it before it dies.” Elizabeth explained with a smile. “But, like I said I need to see if I can find any information that will point me in the right direction on how to do it. So, I shall go on a quest to preserve my _luscious_ rose before it wilts and make it forever immortal.” She told him in a rather dramatic voice for Booker’s benefit.  “Because if you _must_ suffer as we _all_ inevitably do,” Elizabeth continued, sending a wave of water away from her body exposing the soft roundness of her breasts and the stiff nipples that adorned them like two bright pink gemstones, looking very much like one of those mythical sirens that lure sailors to their deaths.  “Suffer for beauty.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes another intense chapter! See everyone next time!


	5. You're One of My Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticated harmony & night terrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible PTSD trigger.

**Booker DeWitt::** It seemed Elizabeth wanted to preserve the rose she had cut off somehow, making it able to withstand the flow of time and stay beautiful as ever. Contain its beauty in amber, find a way to make it last forever. Capture its fleeting beauty, make it a constant instead of part of a cycle. Hmm, she better hurry up then, the rose was probably withering as they spoke, especially in this heat. Seconds counted if you wanted to catch something in the moment. The rose would never be as beautiful as it was a few hours ago now that it was cut from the stem. Forever immortal, huh... That was not a concept that Booker liked. Booker's eyes were drawn to her soft perky breasts as the water revealed them, drawing him in. Suffer for beauty... _Shit_. What was he doing? He glanced away from her, refusing to look at her chest. Why did he keep doing that? Goddamn he hated his own gaze at times. Was it a mere reflex? "Well right now I'm suffering from starvation." Booker said bluntly to change the subject. Besides, it was getting late, they might as well have some early dinner.

 **Elizabeth::**   The girl chuckled softly at Booker’s statement. “Alright, I think we can arrange that,” she said in a low voice.  She swam towards him, “let’s get out of the water then and back inside the house.” With that Booker once more placed his hands securely around Elizabeth’s waist and headed towards edge of the lake. They looked at each other for an uncomfortably long time it seemed as they floated through the water. Elizabeth cleared her throat, “so do you want to take your shower first or should I?” she asked to break the silence.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Hm...You still cold? Otherwise I'll go first." Booker said considerately. He could wait if needed. Honestly he just felt like jerking off, the sooner the better, but naturally Elizabeth wouldn't get to hear that from him. He could make preparations for dinner if she wanted to shower first. They reached the edge of the lake, and Booker once more lifted her from the water, looking at her chest and stomach practically unavoidable that way. He put her down in the grass before he clambered out himself, seemingly without too much effort.

 **Elizabeth::**  “No, I’m fine. I can start dinner while you take a shower,” Elizabeth replied as he sat her down on the grass. She smiled up at Booker when he took her small hand in his and pulled her up to her feet. Elizabeth walked over to where her petticoat and dress still lay in the tall grass. She bent down from the waist and picked them up, casually calling to Booker over her shoulder, “would you take the bowls from lunch back in please?” Elizabeth heard an affirmative “Hmm,” from behind her as she strolled back towards the house. They both entered their home fairly wet, but, neither of them paid the water running off their bodies any mind. Booker set the bowls down on the counter while Elizabeth checked on her rose, “and how are you?” she asked the plant interestedly. Elizabeth was pleased to see that keeping it close to the window where the breeze could get to it had been a good idea. It looked just as fresh as it did when she picked it that morning. Elizabeth picked the rose out of the glass, and stroked it across her lips, smiling just a little when she caught Booker looking at her. “I have my ways,” she stated softly in a knowing tone, dumping the water out of the glass and refilling it with fresh water from the tap, placing the stem back in the glass. To that Booker made no comment, he simply trudged up the steps to take his shower.

“Just you and me, for now” Elizabeth whispered to the flower placing it back just so in the spot she made for it on the counter.  She knew _exactly_ what she wanted to make for dinner, but before she got started, Elizabeth carefully laid her dress and petticoat over one of the kitchen chairs. She strolled over to the refrigerator and picked out her ingredients. Elizabeth grabbed a loin of raw beef, a bunch of mushrooms, a stick of butter, and a red pepper.  She opened her little spice cabinet and retrieved some Rosemary before scurrying back to the kitchen table to grab the salt and pepper shakers. Elizabeth took a large skillet and placed it over one of the larger burners on the stove. She washed her hands well with soap and water then took the sharpest and largest knife in the kitchen out of a drawer. She cut off a few tabs of butter over the skillet then turned the burner on medium heat. Once the bottom was coated with butter Elizabeth vigorously shook salt and pepper over it creating a layer of melted butter with the spices.  She rinsed off her vegetables, tossing in the mushrooms first, then she placed the pepper on a cutting board and proceeded to chop it rather quickly, once that was done she discarded the seeds and Elizabeth slid the pieces of pepper into the pan. Then it was time for the meat. She proceeded to slice the beef into thin quarter inch thick strips and once that was accomplished Elizabeth put them into the pan with the rest of it. Setting the board and knife aside she got out a wooden spoon with a long handle and mixed everything together, flipping and turning to make sure everything got coated with the salty, peppery butter, Elizabeth heard the bathroom door open when she finally added the Rosemary to her creation. By the time Booker came down stairs all visible signs of pink had disappeared from the meat, and Elizabeth smiled at him over her shoulder. He had on a pair of pinstripe pants and a white button up shirt that was partially open at his neck. Booker was casually rolling up his sleeves as he came down the steps. Elizabeth dialed the heat back on low and covered the skillet to let the food simmer.  “Everything is pretty much taken care of, all you have to do is make sure nothing burns.” Elizabeth instructed setting her spoon down and going over to her chair gathering up her clothes in her slender arms. “You can make us some potatoes and carrots if you want, to go with it,” she added, before scrambling up the steps, anxious to get clean so she could finally eat what she had made. The smells were making her stomach growl furiously.

 **Booker DeWitt::** And at long last Booker finally entered the bathroom, ready to take the shower that he longed for. Well, not so much the shower, but more so the opportunity to jack off. Nowadays he just jacked off in the shower or at night. When he had still been living alone he could do it whenever and wherever he pleased. There was no one to walk in on him, no one telling him what to do. That was one good thing about the isolation, he supposed. You could jerk off at your desk, at the couch, table...It didn't matter. But now, obviously, it was quite different. He didn't want his daughter walking in on him like he had walked in on her last night. One time she had almost caught him jerking off in bed, but he'd been able to stop just in time because he heard her footsteps in the hall. Quickly he slipped his warm hand away from his groin, covering himself up with the blankets, pretending to be half asleep and tossing once she entered his room. She had merely wanted to crawl in bed with him to fight whatever loneliness occupied her mind. Booker always allowed it, even then with his swollen cock. They slept back to back anyway. It's not like she would see it. No harm done. It had just been a bit frustrating to get so close to coming and not be able to get his release. Not that she had known of course.

He turned on the shower, leaning his back against the tiled wall. He ran his hands over his face, letting out a sigh. Well, better get to it. He grabbed his cock, limp member slowly becoming harder as he squeezed it around the base. Water streamed down his body, a comfortable feeling. Yeah, he liked that... Booker let some of the water run into his mouth out of habit, spitting it out and clearing his throat. His mind wandered to think of something nice to stimulate him. Hmm...Oh, that one girl at the bar a few weeks back. Fragile build, but somehow still nicely curved. Or girl, hm, woman, rather, though he wasn't too sure about her age. Long dark hair, bright blue eyes looking up at him as her tongue wrapped around the tip of his cock, her slender hand working his base slow and firm. He'd been rather drunk at the time, but he still remembered taking her anally. One of the more unusual times a woman actually desired that from him. Goddamn, it had felt so nice. So tight and warm, taking her as she was on all fours for him. Presenting herself, slamming into him as his fingers dug in her sides, pulling her into him. Booker pumped his cock hard, pre-cum leaking from him though it was mostly washed away by the water soon. Hmm, yes... Ah, and the way she _moaned_ for him. Damn that had been a good round of fucking. With a face as warm as his cock Booker finally came in silence, breathing slightly quicker. He continued washing himself as his cock grew limp again. Once he was done he turned off the shower knob, and hastily dried himself off. With the towel wrapped around his waist he walked over to his room, opening up his wardrobe and getting dressed. Pinstripe pants, white buttoned shirt. He could smell the scent of dinner, making his mouth water as he went downstairs to see the meal with his own eyes.

He rolled up his sleeves as he walked down the stairs, glancing at Elizabeth who was still in the nightgown that clung to her skin. At least it wasn't as see-through as it could be at this point. "Sure." Booker confirmed with a small nod, watching her slide past him up the stairs. Man, it smelled downright delicious in the kitchen. Elizabeth had a knack for cooking that he seemed to lack. Sure, he could cook, but he wasn't quite on Elizabeth's level. He was not as familiar with added spices and sauces, he just ate his food rather plain. Booker prepared the dinner table by putting some plates on it after he'd peeled and boiled some potatoes and carrots. They'd have to buy some more food tomorrow, with his appetite they went through a lot of food in a relatively short time. Well, luckily they had the money to afford it. Booker stirred the carrots a bit out of boredom, since there was nothing to do but to wait for them to be done. Hm, might as well turn on the radio. An unknown song started playing, but it was one that he liked. Some man singing, with a rather enticing beat. Something about about the man desiring some woman, a reoccurring theme in future music. _"I need you tonight, 'cause I'm not sleeping. There's something about you girl, that makes me sweat."_ It was a catchy tune, and Booker liked the intonation he sang with. _"So slide over here, and give me a moment. Your moves are so raw, I've got to let you know..."_ It was a raw kind of desire, predatory, in a sense. Someone out on the hunt, and they had their eyes set on their prey. _"I've got to let you know...you're one of my kind."_ By this time the food was almost done, and Booker put the skillet on the table, it seemed ready. By the time Elizabeth trotted down the stairs the rest of the food was done too. Booker patiently sat at his end of the table, waiting for Elizabeth to sit down before he'd start eating.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth came down stairs with her hair still damp from her shower, in her beige dress that had a scooping low neckline, she hadn't put her petticoat back on. She didn’t see the point in wearing it this late in the day, and Booker had been able to tolerate her body being nearly naked so she assumed that he had finally acclimated to her form. Elizabeth did have a fresh chemise on underneath her dress though, it was made of a lavender colored silk, nice and cool. She liked the way it felt against her skin, so soft and smooth. Elizabeth also had the pack of playing cards tucked away in a pocket, she already took the liberty of retrieving them from Booker’s room and she looked forward to playing with him again. Elizabeth opened their refrigerator and brought two bottles of wine one white and the other red. She felt like having some white, but she wasn’t sure if that’s what Booker wanted or not so Elizabeth brought both to the table. She opened up the white right away and poured herself a glass as she sat down.  Elizabeth artfully took the lid off the skillet revealing her dinner creation. “Viola,” she mused dryly. And with that Elizabeth began enthusiastically began scooping the mix of meat, pepper, and mushrooms onto her plate. It was during dinner time that her appetite really came out, breakfast and lunch was rather light for her, but not so at dinner. When a generous amount of food was on her plate she moved on to the potatoes and carrots that Booker had boiled for them. “So, I was thinking that maybe we could go swim _after_  we got back from town tomorrow if that’s alright with you. “ Elizabeth said lightly bringing her fork to her mouth. OH my God…what she made turned out better than she had anticipated, the addition of the Rosemary really made all the flavors pop. “Holy FUCK…that’s _really_ good,” she exclaimed with a little moan. She saw Booker’s fork stop mid motion. “Booker, give me your fork right now,” Elizabeth demanded practically snatching it right from his hand. She quickly speared a tender piece of beef _with_ a mushroom and a piece of red pepper all three components of the meal she made.  She hastily gave the utensil back to him, “trust me…you _will_ want _all_ those things in your mouth, everything is _much_ better together than separate.” With that she retreated to her glass of wine to wash her first bite down.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker's mouth watered as she revealed the meat. Damn that looked tasty...The scent hit him even more, saliva already gathering in his mouth at the mere sight of it. Well-done meat, just how he liked it, mixed with some other stuff like mushrooms and peppers. Meat was a luxury item and Booker was glad they had the money for it. Booker absolutely loved meat, the texture of it, how his teeth sank into it, cutting it with his fangs, not to mention the heavenly taste of it. Booker straightened up in his chair, impatiently awaiting his turn to bring some of the meat to his place. And so, as he waited he scooped himself some carrots and potatoes which paled in comparison to Elizabeth's dish. He swallowed the excess of saliva in his mouth, hungrily glanced at the meat. He moved in once the was done filling her own plate. Booker gave himself quite a bit, filling his plate. "Yeah, sounds good." Booker replied, not having much of a preference for when they would swim exactly tomorrow. Whatever was convenient. He didn't know why she preferred to go swim later, but he didn't pry. It didn't really matter. Booker tensed lightly at her raw but short little moan, a swear to go with it. It sounded a tad salacious to him. He amusedly wondered if she'd say the same words during sex. It was a harmless little thought that amused him. Well, either way, time to taste for himself how good it was. He picked up his fork, which Elizabeth snatched from him, only a little slower than when she had taken the strawberry from him. He let her, wondering what she wanted with it. Whereas Booker was planning to just eat the meat, Elizabeth provided him more of a taste sensation by piercing meat along with a mushroom and pepper. Booker took the fork back from her, putting it in his mouth and pulling the food off. He chewed slowly. "Holy fuck." He said with his mouth still half-full. He had to have more of that, it was fucking good indeed! Eagerly he pierced the same components on his fork again, bringing them to his mouth. He chewed like he was starved as he opened the bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass.

 **Elizabeth::**   ”I know right?!” Elizabeth grinned taking a gulp from her wine. She felt genuine pride at being able to please Booker so. Elizabeth liked that, liked being able to solicit a response from him that gave him pleasure. It was rather intoxicating to know that he would definitely being helping himself to seconds or thirds because what she had made was _that_ good.  The two of them ate on in shared silence their mouths devouring the delicious meal, savoring all the flavors that combined on their tongues. After a while Elizabeth noticed that she and Booker were synchronized in their motions without even consciously doing it. Whenever she felt like taking a drink from her glass, he did the same as well. She smiled softly at the realization. Elizabeth found herself being rather enthralled with the idea of doing something at the same time as Booker. Two sides of the same coin, counterparts to each other… the thought pleased her.  “You know I could show you how to make this, it’s actually quite simple,” Elizabeth spoke enjoying the sight of watching Booker eat on obviously enthralled with every bite. He raised his eyebrows at her comment as he chewed as if he didn’t believe her. “Under my guidance you could be a great cook, and here’s why” she said with a secretive smile. “The trick of turning food from okay to amazing is simply remembering how something tastes and intuitively combining different flavors together. Of course you have to experiment to figure a lot of stuff out and you can be as daring as you like if you remember what foods taste more…neutral as opposed to having a really strong flavor.” Elizabeth poured herself another glass of wine as she continued on. “Onions and garlic for example have a really distinct flavor, while a potato is bland and impossible to mess up. And I love it for that reason. What I’ve done is taken mushrooms and meat which are pretty mild and married them with the bolder flavors of red pepper and Rosemary. Everything else is just a bit of butter with salt and pepper. Pretty basic, but put all those things together and ta da,” Elizabeth made an elegant sweeping presenting gesture with her hands. “You have an amazing meal, and it’s a lot more intuitive than complicated thinking than you realize. You can associate it with the combination of Vigors and weapons if you like. Hmmm…some fool is taking pot shots at you and you happen to have a shotgun on hand, but that weapon is the most devastating at close range. So, use Undertow to grab the individual and pull him into range.” The wine made her tummy warm and gave Elizabeth a nice rosy blush in her cheeks and her chest. She leaned over the table and scooped just a little more of her creation onto her plate, Elizabeth took a bite and licked her lips quite on purpose. “So what do you say? Do I have myself a disciple or what?”

 **Booker DeWitt::** Their subconsciously synchronized movements were lost on Booker who lost himself in the taste of the food. He ate really quickly even though he tried to be slow. It was only at the second serving that he actually ate slower, his initial hunger stilled. Now he paid extra attention to the taste, chewing slower. Occasionally taking a sip from his wine to wash it all down. He looked up at her with raised eyebrows when she suggested showing him how she had made it. Could she? It didn't really seem like something he would know how to do. As much as Booker loved a good meal: he wasn't such a great cook. His standards were low. For god's sake; he ate out of the _trash_. So for a normal person Elizabeth's food would've already tasted incredibly good, but for Booker it was like seventh heaven. The thought of being able to prepare this kind of meat himself was actually quite unlikely, but appealing. He ate on, quietly listening to her explanation in the meantime. About how to mix and combine flavors, creating a new flavor altogether with them. Lots of experimenting, huh... That is something that Booker did not do with cooking. What he did was buy the bare necessities and not much more than that. He didn't buy spices or food for extra flavor. Those things had always been too expensive for him, not worth his money. He did not experiment because he did not want to have a chance to let his food go to waste either. It was a risk he didn't take in fear of having an empty stomach. Though now they had money...He supposed he could try experimenting. If something went wrong they could always buy some new food. As it turned out, it was less like calculating a formula and more like intuitive choice-making.

She made the comparison with his way of fighting. How he combined vigors with weapons. Hmm, made sense...That was intuitive choice-making too, but with different ingredients and different results. He could do that. Elizabeth's warm tongue licked her lips, as if showing off how delicious her meal was, though all Booker could think of in that moment was how some of the women he fucked made that exact same movement before they'd lick his cock. Damn associations. "I'm in." He agreed, serving himself a third time, finishing up whatever was left. It was a nice prospect actually, cooking with Elizabeth. He was curious how that would go down. Well, he guessed they both had things to teach the other. He chewed on, swallowing. "We should get the cards after this." He said, unaware that she was a step ahead of him when it came to that. He took a large sip of his wine.

 **Elizabeth::** The young woman rewarded Booker with a smile getting up from her chair and patted her pocket. “Already on it,” she told him as she gathered up their empty plates.  The both of them went about their usual routine of cleaning the dishes, idly chatting with Elizabeth explaining to him that with her help he wouldn’t have to worry about cooking anything that was completely inedible. Once they had finished with cleaning up, sensing Booker’s tobacco cravings, Elizabeth opened a drawer and handed him an unopened pack of cigarettes which Booker thanked her for before returning to his spot at their dining room table.  Elizabeth procured a red pear for herself and when she turned around Booker already had a cigarette in his mouth, a thin gray wisp of smoke was curling around his head. Booker watched her as she stood in the kitchen making short work of the juicy pear. White teeth slicing through over ripe flesh, mouth and jaws working intently with every so often a flash of her pink tongue would dart out in an attempt to stem the flow of juice which ran down Elizabeth’s delicate hand. It was a much messier process than eating the apple last night, but she preferred the taste of the pear over the other; which was why she had saved it for last. By the time she was done nothing remained but a slender core which she discarded. Elizabeth rinsed off her hand and dried it on a clean kitchen towel. She strolled over, pulling the pack of cards out of the pocket that she had sewed into her dress. Elizabeth sat at her seat and began to shuffle, her slender but clever little fingers quickly dealing the cards out for their first round like she had done it a thousand times instead of learning it only the other day.

 **Booker DeWitt::** An eager drag was taken from his cigarette. He did not smoke as much as he used to. Back in his office the whole room was blue from smoke at times. He smoked more when he was stressed, when he felt caged in isolation. It gave his restless mouth something to occupy itself with and the smoke calmed his constantly tense nerves. Now he was not craving a smoke that often anymore. He didn't feel as alone living with Elizabeth, his mouth was used for chatting instead of smoking. If he did feel stressed out he usually went for a swim. Another point was that he had a sufficient supply of cigarettes. He wasn't afraid to run out and buy new ones. The fact that he had a stack made him not so stressed, resulting in him smoking less too. One way or another, Booker kept smoking. It was either a habit or an addiction at this point, and he had no intention of stopping with it. Even _if_  Booker would've known it was unhealthy for him he wouldn't have stopped. He watched Elizabeth eat her pear. Whereas the juice of her pear obeyed gravity the thin line of smoke from his cigarette seemed to defy it. Dripping down her hand and arms...Trickling down her skin as her mouth tended to the pear. Her soft tongue slithering out to lick up the excess of the fluid, swallowing it, her throat flexing. Hm... Once she bit down on the soft flesh Booker tensed ever so lightly, and he realized he was staring. Right. He averted his gaze, rolling the cigarette in his mouth.

Playing cards went a lot smoother than the first time. She had gotten the hang of it, she missed some subtleties, but she was getting there. Her fingers were nimble, throwing and flipping cards like she'd been at it for years. She could fool an experienced player. If he didn't know better he'd say she's been practicing for quite some time. When Booker was on the losing side he played his bad cards, much to Elizabeth's satisfaction. She didn't need to say anything. She just wore that triumphant smirk of 'you didn't see that coming, did you?'. "Shut up." Booker replied to her silence with a stern face, but a second later they were both laughing.  Hmm, yeah, he really liked her laughter. They played a few good-natured rounds. Same outcome as the day before; One win for Elizabeth in the second round, and two wins for Booker. He threw his winning cards at the table, a satisfied smirk on his face. In turn she gave him a look that told him next time she'd get him for sure. Booker smirked wider, part of his teeth showing. Bring it. She stood up, both ready to call it a night. Booker leaned forward in his chair to collect the cards, not stopping his task as Elizabeth halted next to him and placed a small goodnight kiss on his forehead. Booker stacked the cards without response, Elizabeth swiftly kissing his stubbly cheek as if to get him to acknowledge her goodnight wish. He could practically feel her smiling against him. She teasingly placed another kiss as he kept silent, right at the corner of his lips. He grumbled softy as he put the cards back into the box. "Yeah yeah..." He mumbled in acknowledgement, waving her off. "Goodnight." He finally said friendly, turning his head to the side and earning a peck on the mouth from Elizabeth who now verbally wished him a goodnight with a soft smile. And with that they head upstairs, going into their rooms.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth tossed and turned in her bed, flailing her slender limbs as she slept. Her dreams were smothering her, sucking her mind down into the abyss. Elizabeth _wished_  for confusion, she wished that she didn’t understand. But, she did. The heat, the desire, the throbbing wetness. It was all too real. The pulsating sound of a wild heart hammering in her ears…her subconscious mind knew full well what she was doing. Soft, slippery skin beneath yearning finger tips. _Why_  is this happening to me? It was a question that Elizabeth had her entire life about everything, budding sexual desires were no exception. But, why? Why _now_? Her subconscious had the answers, but Elizabeth fought hard against those answers. I’m not some fucking cat in heat goddammit. I am a human being. _No you’re not._ You’ll never be anything but a monster. A freak. Somebody’s pet science project. Even as her lithe form shuddered with pleasure it struggled…THUD! Elizabeth rolled off the side of her bead and fell to the floor, her petite body making abrupt contact with the wood floorboards jolting her awake with a little cry. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and squinted, blood running down her forehead, as she was partially blinded by the light of the tear that had manifested itself in her bedroom.  Her silk chemise was bunched up around her upper thighs the creamy flesh was marred with long ragged red scratches in the tender skin. The lips of her sex were swollen with arousal, and Elizabeth felt dampness between her legs. She lay sprawled on the floor, looking like she had just been in a fight. Elizabeth effortlessly closed the tear without really looking at it and covered her face with her hands shaking violently.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker was drifting off into peaceful slumber, his body physically tired from all the swimming today, which made it easier for him to sleep. However, his sleep was disrupted. His sleepy but alert eyes shot open. A sound had woken him up. It was hard to tell what woke him up exactly, but he knew _something_ had jolted him awake. It wasn't his dreams this time, or he would've remembered. Better check it out. He quickly crawled out of his bed, pulling on a pair of boxer shorts as he trudged out of the room. He moved quietly, first checking in Elizabeth's room to see if the sound had woken her up as well. And there she was, awake but on the floor. Had she fallen out of bed? Had happened some time before, could be the cause of the sound. Her hands covered up her face, trembling. Nightmare? As always Booker's eyes adjusted easily to the dark, and he walked over to her. He couldn't see every detail in the dark, but he was able to distinguish forms and shapes, only seeing detail when he was close enough. "You okay?" He knelt down next to her, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. Was that blood? He moved in, fingertips touching her forehead.

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth heard Booker’s voice and felt him kneel down next to her. When his fingers touched the gash at her forehead, she tentatively moved her hands away from her face. She was gasping for breath like she had been running for a long time, and her blue eyes were wild like those of a startled animal. Elizabeth shuddered, she couldn’t speak. The best she could do was shake her head “no,” in response to Booker’s question, but the mix of despair and self-loathing made itself plain on her expressive face.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker glanced at her pained face, rubbed the blood away with his thumb. Not too bad, but still painful. "Hold on a second." he said as he stood up, making his way over to the bathroom. He retrieved a small washcloth, holding it under the cold tap for a bit. He moved back to Elizabeth, gently pressing and wiping the cloth against the gash, cleaning it. She seemed very shaken up, and Booker didn't doubt it was from some horrible nightmare. He experienced those himself too, so he could relate in a sense. He didn't ask about her nightmares. Sometimes talking helped, sometimes ignoring it helped, and he wasn't sure which one it was in this case. And so he went with what he preferred; suppressing. "...Want me to stay with you tonight?" He asked, voice low in the dark, wiping the blood with the cloth.

 **Elizabeth::**    Booker gently dabbed the wound with a cold cloth and Elizabeth felt a little bit better. He whispered to her in the dark and the thought of him _not_  being with her made her panic like a deer being startled at the sudden sound of a gun. Elizabeth instinctively sat up and wrapped her arms around his broad chest.  Thinking of nothing else but disappearing into the protection and safety of Booker’s arms she crawled into his lap, not caring about social boundaries or looking indecent. She actually started to cry, _really_   cry for the first time in _months_. It wasn’t a question up for discussion. He _had_  to stay, he just _had_ too. After so much time spent in numb emotional isolation Elizabeth now felt the crushing weight of psychological pain, and she wept like someone just ripped her heart in half.

 **Booker DeWitt::** DeWitt was surprised as his daughter suddenly  wrapped her arms around his frame, holding on for dear life. She moved into his lap, getting as close to him as  possible, searching for the comfort of his physical presence. She sobbed loudly, her breathing hitched, and her body shaking violently. Booker wrapped his arms around her, large palm sliding up and down her back. He could barely remember the last time she cried like this, but he didn't mind whatsoever. It was good to let out whatever bothered her. A good cry could work wonders. He kept quiet, and even though it was heartwrenching to listen to her cry he did not tell her to stop. "Just let it out." He spoke softly, holding her against him, feeling her tears on his naked flesh. "It's gonna be alright." He spoke after another while of silence, just keeping her there. Once she would calm down a bit he'd carry her into bed, but for now he just leaned into her, his stubble brushing against her cheek.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth clung to Booker’s warmth, memorizing the feel of his scarred skin beneath her hands, the way he smelled and tasted as she buried her face into his chest. The addition of her tears adding to the salty taste on her parted lips.  She let him soothe her and it felt wonderful to have Booker hold her. It satisfied a longing inside Elizabeth that she didn’t even know she had. Eventually her sobs quieted, and she shook less. Elizabeth nuzzled the crook of Booker’s neck rubbing her soft skin across his stubble. He was still messaging her back and she could feel his nimble fingers glide around the soft fabric of her night gown and her bare skin. “ _Please,_ don’t go.” Elizabeth managed to finally whisper.

 **Booker DeWitt::** They sat there for quite a while and Elizabeth's sobbing subsided, her body eventually relaxing under his touch. He was surprised to hear her voice as she whispered. "I ain't going anywhere." He replied earnestly, his hand sliding up to the back of her head, stroking her there. "C'mon." He said, changing his position a bit. He scooped her up in bridal style, getting to his feet with a small grunt. She slid out of his arms onto the mattress, her hand clinging onto his to keep the physical connection in tact. Must've been quite the nightmare for her to long so much for his presence. He didn't say anything of it, and picked the sheet from the floor. A bit clumsily he clambered over her so that he was between the wall and Elizabeth. Usually he'd sleep at the outer side, making Elizabeth scoot to the wall, but he didn't feel like forcing her to make space for him right now. He just hoped the shelves of books above his head would fall off during the night. He had made the shelves himself though when she'd said she needed more space for her literature, should be sturdy enough. Booker lay on his side, facing Elizabeth as he still held her slender hand. He stayed in this position for comfort for the time being. Once she'd fall asleep he'd turn his back to her, facing the wall instead. That's how he slept best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and see everyone next time!  
> The song on the radio was: I Need You Tonight-INXS


	6. Bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day out! What Booker & Elizabeth do when they aren't around each other.

**Elizabeth::** The two of them drifted off to sleep eventually, and Elizabeth snuggled close to Booker’s back pressing her small body into him unconsciously. Normally, how they slept back to back prevented any awkwardness between them in the mornings, but with Booker being between the wall and Elizabeth’s body created a new situation for them. Elizabeth was the type of sleeper than tossed and turned a lot even when she was sleeping well and peacefully which normally wasn’t a problem in Booker’s bed because his was larger and her squirming didn’t disturb him. And whenever he crawled into bed with her normally Booker was on the outside so he could scoot away from Elizabeth’s movements. Their current sleeping position prevented this and even as he slept Booker felt every jostle, every turn that Elizabeth made in her sleep. So, in his sleep fogged brain Booker turned on his side _towards_ Elizabeth and draping his long heavy limbs on top of her to keep her from moving around as much; which resulted in them sleeping a lot closer together. When Elizabeth awoke, her face was pressed into Booker’s chest and she felt the weight of his arms around her upper body. Through heavy lidded eyes she looked down and saw that their legs had tangled up together, and she could feel the bulge of Booker’s prominent erection through the fabric of his shorts. Elizabeth shifted just a touch and on reflex Booker pulled her closer. The hard shape of his member pressed into her pubic mound and lower stomach. Well…she wasn’t going anywhere, Elizabeth thought sleepily feeling the steady rise and fall of Booker’s chest as he breathed evenly still deep in sleep. She took a calming breath, Booker was male, and it was morning, this was _normal_ ; although Booker might be embarrassed if he woke up to find her conscious and looking up at him. The situation didn’t bother Elizabeth _that_  much, it was just a biological, but she knew Booker was more sensitive about such things. So, Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, knowing she’d be better off going back to sleep and forgetting about the whole thing. But, her body seemed determined to keep her conscious, the throbbing sensation she felt between her legs was rather bewildering because she couldn’t tell if it was from her or _him_. Or maybe the both of them. Elizabeth was able wriggle one of her tiny hands free and with that Elizabeth purposefully pulled some of her hair over her face. If she couldn’t fall back asleep she didn’t quite trust herself not to blush when Booker woke up, and there was no way in hell Elizabeth was going to have Booker freak out on her over some morning wood.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth's rolling and tossing throughout the night kept Booker in a very light slumber, one that was barely worth to be called restful. He couldn't move out of the way, and she kept dragging him out of his slumber whenever she bumped into him, his back literally against the wall. There was nowhere for him to go. Booker put up with it at first, but eventually it started to annoy him. If only she'd just lay _still_ for god's sake. He just wanted some goddamn sleep, was that too much to ask for? Half annoyed and half asleep he turned back towards her, draping his heavy arm over her in dismay. That should keep her still. And luckily enough for him, it worked. Of course she sometimes still moved under his arm, but she was kept in the same position, not waking Booker up anymore. Finally he got some proper deep sleep, and he went out like a light. Booker woke up rather late, not having gotten as much sleep as Elizabeth had. He felt comfortable, taking in a deep breath, still half caught in his erotic dreams. Hmm, that's it...Feels good. Little more... He ground against her both in his dreams and reality, the shape of Elizabeth's body against him seamlessly integrated in his dreams, though he wasn't dreaming of Elizabeth. He was dreaming of some faceless woman that had nothing but praise for him, desperately begging to be fucked by him and _only_  him. Stroking both his ego and his cock. Booker let out a soft noise as he pressed into Elizabeth, and it was the sound of his own voice that woke him fully. Hm? Was he awake? He opened his eyes, seeing brown hair. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and more important; who he was grinding against. His body stiffened. Shit. Booker felt his stomach turn in shame. Was she asleep? Goddamn he hoped she was...He couldn't tell, her breathing sounded calm enough. Goddamn that was stupid. He kept his arm around her so that he wouldn't wake her up with _too_ much movement. He couldn't really retract his tangled legs either without waking her. And so, he awkwardly kept lying there, feverishly hoping she had slept through his inappropriate movements.  His heart raced, and he closed his eyes again, trying to calm down.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth felt her face grow impossibly hot beneath her hair when Booker grinded into her. Oh shit. Don’t panic, she told herself as his stiff member firmly pressed into her own crotch moving back and forth. The motion was confusing in the fact that it _wasn’t_ confusing at all. It was a primal movement meant to create pleasure; Booker’s groin pressed into hers creating friction, heat, a buildup of pressure that felt… _good_. Her mouth went really dry and she swallowed waiting for him to stop. Booker made a quiet little groan and felt him start to wake up. Just like in poker, bluff Elizabeth, she thought to herself. Bluff like you have never bluffed before. It took a large amount of concentration, but she kept her breathing steady even though her heart was furiously pounding in her chest. God…she wished she knew what to do. Elizabeth _couldn’t_ let him know that she was awake the _entire_ time Booker grinded into her as he slept.  Should she attempt some kind of movement? She was notorious for tossing and turning in her sleep, would it be possible to fake Booker out? Elizabeth decided it was, because she knew how Booker thought, he would hang on to any indication that was there so he could believe what he wanted to believe. So with her eyes still closed, Elizabeth squirmed a little bit, trying not to think about Booker’s erection pressing into her groin as she did so. It wasn’t the humping motion that Booker unwittingly did in his sleep it was a movement that made it seem like she was still sleeping and trying to toss and turn, but the heaviness of Booker’s limbs prevented her from completing the motion.

 **Booker DeWitt::** A minimal sigh of relief was let out as Booker felt her tossing under his arm in that particular way she always moved when she was asleep. She pressed into his crotch in her lazy movement. She was definitely not awake, and he was damn glad about that. This was the exact reason why they slept back to back normally, he was not up for this kind of awkwardness. He calmed down at the fact that Elizabeth would not mention or confront his instinctive grinding. That uncomfortable conversation would be spared. No need to talk about it, just leave it for what it was; a stupid consequence of a dirty dream. Not like he could help it. It was fucking disgusting to grind his hard cock against his daughter like that, and he was glad he was the only one who had to live with that awkward memory, sparing her the embarrassment. Now that he _knew_ she was asleep he didn't seem too worried about waking her. She was blissfully ignorant. If he wanted to he easily could grind into her another time. He was mad at himself for letting that thought pop up in his head. What the fuck was _wrong_  with him? There was nothing wrong. It was part of the human mind to think up scenarios that could benefit you, no matter how gruesome or inappropriate they were. Involuntary thoughts. And this was one of those thoughts. His dick may like the sensation, but Booker sure as hell didn't want anything in that direction. He knew he couldn't help it in his half-sleep, but he felt vile for slowly humping her like that. It bothered him. He would lay there until she would wake, but he was certain he wouldn't catch anymore sleep after that little incident. He took a deep breath, drawing his pelvis back from her as far as possible, as far as their tangled legs would let him, as far as he could go until the wall stopped him.

**_~_ **

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth was perched on her tip toes, straining her arm to grab a dusty book off one of the top shelves of the library.  Her slender fingers hooked into the heavy tome’s spine, and she slowly pulled it towards her body and used her stomach to brace it so it wouldn’t fall to the ground.  Ah ha! There we are Elizabeth thought, as she carefully backed down the rickety ladder she had surreptitiously climbed in order to get at the book that had caught her eye. She already had grabbed a couple of other books, but those were thin and much lighter compared to what Elizabeth carried in her arms back to the quiet little table where she normally sat out of habit to read by the sunlight come through one of windows. She enjoyed being by the light, and going to the same spot was routine because Booker could also easily see her through the giant window when he came back to meet her. Coughing a little she blew away some of the dust from the cover and smiled. She was right, this _was_ one of the books she had back in her tower; a giant book all on Greek mythology. There had been pages missing from her version in her tower, and Elizabeth anxiously cracked the book open and quickly flipped through its pages to find the missing sections that her jailers in Columbia thought was inappropriate for her to read. And so, Elizabeth with amused interest read all about the god Zeus’s sexcapades with mortal women.  The stories were Zeus had transformed himself into various creatures in order to seduce or otherwise disguise his extra-marital affairs were the most compelling to Elizabeth. The tale of beautiful Danae the daughter of king of Argos gave her chills. According to some ancient prophecy, Danae’s son would rise up to kill and over throw his grandfather for the throne. So, the king imprisoned the girl in a tower with bronze doors. But, Zeus wasn’t an ordinary man to be stopped, he was a god. He transformed himself into a golden rain shower and visited Danae inside her tower, which resulted in the birth of Perseus on of the great heroes in Greek mythology.  Elizabeth closed the book shut with a soft snapping sound, she had enough stories about virgin girls kept in towers and the insatiable males that perused them. She took a deep breath, why is it _always_ sex? Her captors let her read Les Miserables, but anything related to sex or reproduction was diligently omitted from of her literature. What was so special about it? Elizabeth didn’t get it, and she didn’t want to. Life was complicated enough without adding that element to it, and in the light of day she could cling to that thought. But, the night was different…it was as if her subconscious was forcing her to endure a second puberty. Maybe she should look for some books on dreams.

Elizabeth left the thick book on Greek mythology on the desk and scooped up the books she _was_ taking. She looked up at the old clock that quietly ticked away over the desk where she returned and took out books. It was almost time for her to meet back up with Booker. Elizabeth silently wondered how much the man had wound up drinking today. Old habits die hard, and Elizabeth was grateful that at least Booker wasn’t plastered every day. And gambling was no longer an option; she was quite clear on that. She could deal with the other stuff, but Elizabeth didn’t want to have to constantly worry about whether someone would come knocking on their door demanding money. Also, Booker seemed to be a lot calmer whenever he came back from the relatively short time he spent in the bars, so Elizabeth didn’t fret about it _too_ much. So, she made a brisk walk through the library specifically looking for tears, reading stuff that wasn’t supposed to exist for many years gave Elizabeth a thrill. As she rounded a corner Elizabeth finally spotted one, she ran her tongue over her smooth teeth in anticipation. After double checking that no one was around to see her, she opened the tear, her small hand reaching into the gray void and bringing out the thin, little book that it held. As always she opened the cover to look at the title and publication date. _The Story of O_ , published in 1954, the English edition was published in 1964. And the author was French, Elizabeth grinned. Most excellent, and she discreetly pocketed her find inside the inner pocket of her jacket and made her way to the front desk. Elizabeth stopped near the poetry section for a little bit, she could never leave without riffling through it. Better get going though, came the thought in the back of her head. It would be better if she met Booker outside on the steps of the library, they still had to do their food shopping and Elizabeth was anxious to get going.  She got herself all situated and walked outside, sticking to the shaded areas so she could see.

After a little while, Elizabeth finally spotted Booker’s lean form walking up the street towards her.  He had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and his hands were in his pockets as was his habit. Booker had a long loping stride that seamed effortless, and it reminded her of wolves or big cats; the way they nonchalantly strutted around. Lovely, but ready to spring and snap the neck of any living thing that dared to get close to them. She glided down the steps and started walking towards him. The light of the sun and the dress she wore set off her physical features. Elizabeth had on a very fitted pale gray dress that had a low neckline that just came above the corset she wore beneath it, the dress being very practical because from bust almost to hem she had sowed little red buttons all down the length of it so it was easy to get on and off. It matched the red ribbon tied at her throat were her brooch faithfully rested in the hollow of her neck, and she wore a deep burgundy bolero jacket that hung just below her breasts which the sleeves were made entirely of lace so she would stay cool in the summer heat. Dark high heeled boots and a belt that hooked around the front with pouches off to the sides to hold important things to keep her hands free completed the outfit. Elizabeth liked the weight of the belt, it flattered her narrow waist and the wider expanse of her hips, and she felt the smooth motion her pelvis made whenever she walked because of it. 

She glided towards Booker with her books underneath a slender arm, taking in his features the closer they got to each other, matching each other step for step. Quite suddenly Elizabeth felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, her fight or flight instinct kicking in. There was something not _right_ about Booker’s body language and that made her walk slower. Even though his stride seemed as languid as ever, there was a certain… _tautness_  in the way he was carrying himself. She couldn’t put her finger on it, there was something stirring beneath the surface there. Something changed somehow…and even in the hot summer sun it gave her chills. “Miss! Miss!” A voice called out behind her, and Elizabeth’s lithe form spun around, her brown hair flowing with the motion. There was a young man with sandy colored hair running after her. What the hell? The man was around average height, but he was built as slender as a reed, symmetrical face, nice smile, hair the color of wet sand, and gray eyes, all in all a strapping young lad. He took a deep breath and held out a book towards her, “you forgot this.” Puzzled, Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. He turned the book showing her the cover of Walt Whitmans’ _Leaves of Grass_. She had been looking at that, didn’t she grab it along with the others? Guess not. “This is probably the _greatest_  poetry you will ever read, Miss. So, I checked it out for you since you had forgotten it.” He told her with a smile running his hand through his hair. “Well…thank you. But, how am I supposed to return it if the loan is under _your_  name?” Elizabeth asked inquisitively, perplexed by this lanky man in front of her. The young man laughed a little, “That’s easy. Just give them my name when you bring it back. Jonathan Henders,” he introduced himself as Elizabeth took the book from him. “As long as the library gets its book back, I don’t think they are going to mind who brings it to em’.” “Well…thanks a lot,” she told him. “Don’t mention it Miss—“ “Elizabeth. You can call me, Elizabeth,” she said smoothly. “Alright, pleased to meet you. See you around _Elizabeth_ ,” and with that Jonathan spun around on his heel and walked away leaving Elizabeth slightly dazed.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "One more, please." Booker said, shoving his empty beer bottle away from him. He leaned against the bar, his green eyes fixed upon the woman behind the bar. It was still pretty early, and the bar was practically empty. He was lucky they were open at all. Maybe he had a chance with the good looking woman behind the bar, then. No other female in sight, but Booker's need was high. He decided to give it a shot. He didn't have _that_  much time before he'd stroll back to the library to meet up with Elizabeth. Just a quickie today, if he could manage to pique her interest. That was the real challenge here. People Booker slept with in general were less inclined to give into their sexual desires with a stranger during broad day light. They didn't have the veil of the night to turn their mind in a more instinctive one. It was a tiny realm that allowed things the daylight would not see. The night made you more tolerant, but alas, Booker did not have the time of day working in his favor at this time. He'd just have to work his charms. She handed him another beer, and the man gave her a grateful look. Hmm, it was difficult to gauge females behind the bar. They dealt with drunkards hitting on them all the time, they knew how to stand their own. They were not the kind to be overwhelmed by charms. They knew how to handle men.

Booker took a sip of his drink while she cleaned some glasses. "Kinda deserted today, huh..." Booker mumbled, glancing to the side, looking at the empty place. Still, the warm lights made it look cozy. It was relatively dark inside even with sunlight coming in. It was always kind of like that. He got a firm uninterested confirmation of the woman behind the bar, but not unkind. Booker capitalized on her response, seizing the opportunity to make some small talk. See if they had anything in common. Since it was not a busy day she was up for a friendly chat it turned out. They talked about the importance of customers in a bar regarding atmosphere, sharing some anecdotes of their own about when they'd have busy nights at a bar. How one guy would dance at a table, or how impossibly drunk some of the men were. They became more enthusiastic in sharing their stories, the conversation shifting from small talk to an actual chat. They even shared a laugh at one point, the ice between them broken. Yeah, it was going in the right direction. Booker made sure to avoid too personal inquiries. He didn't ask for her name, didn't ask general questions about her job, didn't ask anything that might make her defensive, though at this point he was sure he'd get some answers to those questions if he asked them. They kept talking, both emerging in the pleasure of each other's company on this lonely day. "So I said to him, 'Look, pal, I ain't looking for a fight'." Booker told her, having her full attention. "And man, that got him _furious_ for some reason! But hey, it's good he had his attention focused on me instead of that poor girl, y'know?" He asked with raised eyebrows as he took another sip of his beer, the woman nodding affirmatively, leaning on her folded arms. "So we brawled. It was a heavy fight, but I won in the end with a nice right-handed punch, knocked him right out, and he finally dropped the knife." Booker said proudly, leaning over the bar. "Still got a small memento of that day right here." He pointed to the slice above his left eyebrow, his body language telling her to touch the rough patch of skin, which she did, establishing some physical contact. He leaned back again, tipping back the bottle and finishing his beer. "Afterwards the girl insisted on thanking me. And I don't mean just a nice 'thank you' I mean fucking." He stated bluntly, slowly spinning the bottle in his hand. "Now, what I _should've_ done is be a good man and reject her offer." He glanced at her. "But I didn't. There's nothing quite like a good fuck between strangers, wouldn't you say so?"  Booker shot her a meaningful look.

After the woman had locked and closed the place they fucked behind the counter. She lay sprawled on her back, lustful look in her brown eyes as Booker pounded his cock into her, the wooden floor creaking underneath them at times. She had some condoms behind the bar, which resulted in Booker not having to use the ones in his wallet. They were only partially undressed, Booker had his pants off, and the woman had her shirt opened, revealing her nice plump breasts. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, granting Booker the mobility he needed. Goddamn that felt good... She was comfortably tight, taking him in. Their bodies pressed together, her hands clinging to his back. Their faces were close, but there was no kissing, only soft delicious exclamations whenever he plunged into her. In the position they were in Booker's pubic bone rubbed against her clitoris, both of them stimulated. Hmm, yes, a good fuck. He had craved this, finally getting rid of his pent-up sexual frustration properly. It was _so_  much better than a hand. The woman underneath him seemed to share a similar thought, moaning, breath hitching at times. Eventually they came, both spilling their fluids with a groan. Booker remained buried in her for a while, panting, his body heavy on top of hers, but she seemed to manage. After a while his breathing had calmed, and he sat up. He wrapped his hand around his base at the edge of the condom, making sure it wouldn't slip off while he pulled out. God, that wet sound...He loved it. He took the rubber off, tying it up so that the contents wouldn't spill, afterwards dropping it. Time to go. "Nothing quite like it, huh?" Booker said teasingly as he pulled his pants back on, and she gave a nod with a smile, which made him reply with a soft grin of his own.

With a cigarette in his mouth Booker strolled the streets, heading to the library where they always met up. He felt much better now, body relaxed, still coursing with afterglow. The cigarette was a treat after sex, it was just that much better somehow, and he throughly enjoyed it. He spotted Elizabeth in the distance, she was outside already, not sitting behind the glass like she usually was. He didn't speed up his pace once he did notice her, he just calmly walking on in his long stride. He was entirely relaxed. However, when he saw someone else emerge from the library his body tensed. They were going straight for Elizabeth. Who was that? His protective mode kicked in immediately. Countless times Elizabeth had been approached by the enemy, and Booker had to tell himself that down here at the Sodom Below not everyone was after Elizabeth's life. So, instead of dashing towards her to eliminate the threat he kept walking, body tense and ready to sprint to her rescue. It was hard to keep himself back. Just stay calm, she's not in danger. See? She's just having a chat. Nothing wrong with that. Still, he subtly sped up his pace. They conversed, though Booker could not hear about what. He seemed to hand her something. Book. Hm...The conversation went on just a little too long for his taste. Hand running through his hair, open body language...Was he flirting? By the time Booker got close to Elizabeth the guy had already ran off. Booker glanced at the man's back as he walked up the stairs, hands still in his pockets. "Who's that kid?" He asked indifferently, rolling his cigarette to the other corner of his mouth. Well, whatever...They just had to go buy some food now.

 **Elizabeth::**  “No, idea.” She replied with a soft murmur. To that Booker only grunted indifferently. “Anyway, we should get to the store if you still want to go for a swim before it’s too late.” And with that the two of them strolled off in the direction of the food market.

_**~** _

By the time they got home it was getting late in the afternoon and Elizabeth was starving, haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Elizabeth sat her pile of books on the couch while Booker methodically unpacked their groceries, restocking their refrigerator. “I don’t know about you but I am _so_  hungry right now,” she grumbled clutching her empty stomach. Elizabeth slipped out of her short jacket and draped it over the couch. She glided over to the refrigerator and purposefully bumped the side of her hip against Booker, putting some force into the motion. “Move,” Elizabeth barked at him to slightly lean into the refrigerator looking at the contents to decide what she wanted. She was slightly bent over at the waist, the curve of her spine moved beneath the surface of smooth white skin only marred by the large pink circular scar between the pronounced jut of her shoulder blades.  Elizabeth grabbed the half empty bottle of white wine from last night, feeling parched as well as hungry. “Any requests?” she asked, straightening herself out and backing up a little only to bump right into Booker who apparently hadn’t moved away, but stood right behind her.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Just like Elizabeth Booker was starving. Just because he could do without food for a long time did not mean he wasn't hungry, and he'd like to eat. He put the food in the refrigerator, protecting it from the heat. Booker moved to the side as she bumped into him to make space, he took a step back, standing behind her, near the fridge like a guardian of the fresh food. She leaned in, Booker feeling strangely defensive in a way as she rummaged through the fridge. Booker was like an emaciated dog that still had to learn there was enough food for both of them. She picked from _his_ food. He knew it was silly, he knew they had more than enough, and they could _always_ get more. His defensiveness was irrational, he knew that, but you couldn't just _stop_  a feeling you had. It would just take time for Booker to get rid of that greed for food. A few months with more than enough food was not enough to get rid of Booker's possessiveness. But, he slowly became better at sharing food, he was taking steps in the right direction. He glanced at Elizabeth's curved spine as she looked around, the little boney bulges, covered in thin white fabric. Hm, she had a nice outfit on today. She unexpectedly moved back, her rear bumping into him, triggering sexual memories for Booker, about how he took women from behind. It looked as if he was taking Elizabeth from behind. God _dammit_. He shut out the thoughts of associating Elizabeth and her body with having sex, angrily. "Let's have the chicken." He started, keeping his mind from going places where he did not want them to go. "I ain't swimming anymore today, let's call it dinner." He said, moving out of her way and opening up the fridge a bit further. "Maybe you can teach me your spice and herb magic today." He stated dryly.

 **Elizabeth::** The young woman smiled slowly and poured herself a glass of wine. “Sure, I’ll learn ya lesson,” she replied in a low voice. Elizabeth took a large gulp of wine. Ah, much, much better.  She tapped her index finger against her full plush lips as if deep in thought. “Chicken is pretty good choice, because it goes with almost anything. So, you have liberties to be creative with it. “ She told him taking another gulp of wine. Elizabeth sighed, ideas forming in her mind. “Fetch me a large pan, please,” the young woman instructed. “Here’s what we are going to do, we are going to fill the bottom of this with lemon juice and some olive oil, then we are going to shake the living hell out of Mr. Pepper shaker over there,” Elizabeth mused with a laugh. “Then we are going to throw in a decent amount of lemon grass and some sage, gently mix it all together, then we are going to _drown_ those chicken breasts in that mixture, cut up some potatoes, some tomatoes, and put in some asparagus and then we are going to bake all of it together so all those wonderful flavors come together.” She took another swallow of wine. “Now, here’s the secret to all this, so listen up. Our ingredients are: chicken-neutral flavor, potatoes- neutral again, tomatoes-distinctive flavor, asparagus-also distinctive,” Elizabeth was holding out her fingers counting. “The ratio of bland to exciting for your taste spuds is 50/50, and usually it’s a good idea not to stray too far from that. But, if you are ever in doubt error in having more neutral tasting things in a dish.” Elizabeth sauntered over to the refrigerator again, and began removing items. “And our spices and herbs, we have lemon juice with lemon grass, pepper, strong stuff, but that is balanced with the olive oil. The sage…”she paused dramatically with a little wink. “That’s just me showing off I’m afraid,” Elizabeth walked towards the radio like she already heard music playing before she even turned it on. She flipped the dial, and turned around, “because as soon as that first bite’s in your mouth you’ll be on your knees _begging_ for more,” As she spoke Elizabeth’s voice sounded just as rich as the food she was about to prepare. “So, let’s get cooking.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker was a bit hesitant as they started cooking, him taking the large pan like she said and putting it on the stove. She explained to him what they were gonna do. He tried to pick up the talk about bland and outspoken flavors, most of it only partially sticking. Don't overdo either, basically. Alright, that shouldn't be too difficult, right? He knew how to do the basic stuff. He put some olive oil in the pan as Elizabeth kept talking, paying attention to what it was she had to say, her little confident wink not going unnoticed. She turned on the radio, giving them something to listen to as they cooked. Begging on your knees for more, huh... She hadn't intended it to sound perverted, he knew that. Her voice was rich but innocent, but all Booker could think of in that moment was a woman on her knees in front of him, sucking him off, begging for more of his cum. His dick seemed to like that mental image, and gave a lazy twitch. No time for that, it was time to cook. No time to let his fantasies run wild, though he'd hold that thought, use it later to jerk off to. And so, they started their small endeavor to make dinner. It was a bit difficult for Booker to get used to having someone else at the counter with him. Usually either of them cooked alone, maybe help a tiny bit, but this required more coordination so that they wouldn't bump into each other constantly. But, they got used to it soon enough. A subtly touch was enough to tell each other to get out of the way for a second. Booker did okay with cooking, he knew how to cook, just not in the way Elizabeth cooked. She threw some spices and pepper, more intuitive than he worked. She let Booker add some stuff too, Booker sometimes hesitantly looking at her, not sure if he added too less or too much. She led him well though. He took the pepper, grinding it pretty carefully as if he was afraid too much would come out at once. Elizabeth told him they needed way more pepper, and wrapped her tiny hands around his, attempting to make his movements firmer. None of that languid uncertain business in the kitchen. Add it with certainty. Once Booker seemed more confident with adding pepper she let go of him, giving an approving nod. They worked together to make the rest of the meal. Everything was almost done at this point, and it smelled goddamn delicious. Booker touched Elizabeth shoulder lightly to make her step aside. He reached for the cupboard, getting them their plates, afterwards taking the cutlery and preparing the dinner table.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth checked on the progress of their meal. “It’s almost done,” she announced as Booker set the table. She reached for the bottle of wine to refill her glass, but discovered it was empty. Huh, guess it’s time to get out another. Elizabeth gave no thought to the knowledge that she just drank half a bottle of wine on her own on an empty stomach. She could feel the alcohol’s effects, but Elizabeth wasn’t falling over drunk. Outwardly, she made it seem like she hadn’t drunk anything at all. Elizabeth was looking forward to eating and also to the card games that they’d play after. She felt a lot more confident about her bluffing skills now. The awkwardness from the morning actually made Elizabeth feel more assertive in her ability to show Booker what _she_ wanted him to see. She had a good feeling, she’d play him. Booker DeWitt wouldn’t know what hit him. Just like everything else that could be learned how you approached it mentally was important, it could mean the difference from being good at something to being great at it. She checked the food again, still cooking, so in order to distract herself Elizabeth got a small bowl and filled it with some cherries. Absent mindedly munching on them while she waited for their meal to be done. She reached into her mouth and pulled out the pit, the seed wet from being inside her mouth. Elizabeth threw it away and ate another. She heard the little ding of her timer with joy. It was done. She put on a pair of mitts and carefully picked up the hot pan, Elizabeth nimbly walked over the table and set it down in the middle. Then she got two large spoons for them to get the delicious smelling food from the pan to their plates, and a half opened bottle of red wine for Booker, and a unopened bottle of white for her. Elizabeth walked back to the table and handed one of the spoons over to the man’s eagerly waiting grasp. “Well, let’s have at it,” she announced.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker stole a little cherry too, biting at it and twirling his tongue around in the flesh to get the core out. He took a few more from the bowl as they waited for the dinner to finish. The cherry was incredibly sweet since he hadn't eaten in quite a while, his tongue tingling at the sensation. He kept the pits in his mouth, stuffing them in his cheek as he ate on. It wasn't until Elizabeth carried the pan over to the table that he finally stopped eating cherries. He wasn't worried about spoiling his appetite. He was pretty much always hungry, and this food was delicious judging by the scent. He spit the pits out in his hand, throwing them away. He briefly washed his hands to get rid of the mix of juice and saliva on his hand before he joined her at the dinner table. He could barely wait to get a taste of what they had made, his mouth watering from both the cherries and the anticipation of this meal. He took the spoon from her, scooping himself a rather large portion. He dug in before Elizabeth was done scooping some up herself, too impatient to wait. "Mhhn! Damn, that's _good_." Was all he said before he took another large bite chewing eagerly, too busy to talk. His teeth dug into the juicy chicken meat, Booker eating away like a hungry lion, the only thing that seemed to be missing was him grabbing the food from Elizabeth's plate because it wouldn't be her turn to eat yet. Yeah, they had cooked well together. It was much easier than Booker had anticipated. Basically just throwing in some extra flavor for a delicious taste. He was up for cooking with her again.

And just like Booker was up for cooking with her, Elizabeth was up for playing cards with him. They ate from the cherries at times, dealing the cards. He didn't know what it was, but Elizabeth seemed to be on a roll. She won the first round gloriously. Beginner's luck, as Booker had teasingly called it. Though his light mood became a tad darker when she won the second round too, giving him a lovely smirk with a cherry between her dentals. She was downright _playing_ him. Well, surely he could win the last round, couldn't he? But, as it turned out as she played her cards; he couldn't. She'd won three times in a row. Booker was a sore loser, and even though he didn't say anything it was apparent that he was re-evaluating how good he really was at poker. His body was tense, not dealing well with the embarrassing losses. He hadn't been able to win even _once_. It wasn't merely luck on Elizabeth's side, he knew that. Her bluffing had significantly increased somehow. "Well done." He mumbled, clearly forcing himself to say something nice, avoiding her gaze. He threw his cards face-down at the table, not even bothering to show her what last move he could've made. It was useless anyway. He uninterestedly leaned back in his chair, scratching the side of his stubbled cheek, face indifferent as it always was.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth pressed her lips together watching Booker toss his cards down in frustration.  She took a deep, long, drink from her glass looking at the man attentively. Hmm…tense shoulders and neck, avoiding eye contact. It seemed that Mr. DeWitt was a sore loser. She would have to do something about that, she wanted them to keep having fun, this wasn’t a competition. Male pride…it was so easy to wound even if you weren’t even trying. She didn’t want him to start associating their card playing with negative thoughts. Booker leaned back into his chair, scratching his chin as Elizabeth set down her glass. “Well a student can only be as good as her teacher,” she said with a wry smile. Elizabeth was good with words, and she never said anything that she didn’t mean. She only spoke truth, and Elizabeth wasn’t consoling Booker for his loses, not saying “aww too bad” to him like some other insensitive people would wallowing in victory. She showed him the flip-side of the situation, slowly getting him to realize that her playing exceptionally well was because _he_  was the one who taught her. She was _his_  to teach, no one else’s and because of that a loss wasn’t really a loss after all. “In order to be the best at something you must learn from the best,” Elizabeth spoke plainly, gathering up the cards and absentmindedly shuffled them. The young woman soothed the sting of “losing” and made Booker see the situation for what it _really_ was as it was her lot in life. Elizabeth took off the blinders and made him see that he had done a _good_  thing for her. Beating Booker didn’t make him less of a player in her eyes, it didn’t disappoint her, it earned her _admiration_  that he taught her well. 

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Hmm..." He supposed she did have a point with that. Without him she probably would still be stumbling with the dynamics of that game. Smooth seas did not make good sailors. She was good at it because _he_ taught her. Yeah, he liked that idea. She needed _him_ to become this good. He was only reaping what he sowed. He taught her how to play properly, and not so surprisingly she had beaten him. He showed her his tricks, telling her subtle signs that you could read from a person's face, adding in a touch of his own detective work. Though, for being an observant man Booker was surprisingly dense at times. It wasn't so much that he didn't considering other ways of looking at things, he understood, though at times he needed a push in the right direction, wherever that may lead him. Elizabeth was the one that pushed him. She had successfully soothed him and his mild turmoil, now shuffling the cards, which she seemed to be getting better at too, she didn't even need her full attention for it anymore, her fingers nimbly shifting the cards. Booker relaxed a little, refilling his wine-glass and throwing it contents straight into his mouth, chugging it all down at once. He might as well have taken the bottle itself. He seemed calmer, wiping his mouth as he put the glass back down at the table. "Well, time to call it a night." Booker said, standing up from his chair, stretching his lean body with a small grunt, his shirt only barely remaining tucked in in his trousers. He closed the wine bottles, putting them back in the fridge and putting the glasses in the sink. He'd clean those next time, he was too tired right now. Hell, he may even be too tired to jerk off at this point. Hm, well, he did have sex today, he could go a day without his hand, right? His libido was reasonably satisfied, he had a full stomach, and his body was tired, what more did he want? He gave Elizabeth a small nod, excusing himself. He didn't take the cards with him, might as well leave them here if they were gonna play regularly. And with that he went upstairs, stripping himself naked and crawling into bed. It had been a bit cooler this day, but it was still incredibly hot in his room. Good thing the door was open so that he had at least a little bit more of air circulation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading & see everyone next time!


	7. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partners in life & unbidden dreams. Elizabeth takes care of Booker.

**Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth’s deep blue eyes were fixed to Booker’s back as she watched him walk up the steps. She didn’t feel tired yet, so she decided to stay up and wash the glasses he had just put in the sink. Truth was she was trying to avoid going to sleep, Elizabeth didn’t think she could be able to deal with another one of _those_ dreams. She had even opened a tear for God’s sakes. Well, that settles it. I’m not going to bed, Elizabeth thought. However, she did desire to get more comfortable, taking off her corset and the stockings she had on sounded amazing. She grabbed her jacket off the couch and softly padded up stairs, light and quick on the balls of her feet. Elizabeth went inside her room and unbuttoned her dress, slipping it off her slender body. The material fell to the floor with a soft thud, Elizabeth undid the clasps at the front of her corset and breathed a sigh of relief. Garters and stocking next, and one by one Elizabeth unpeeled the layers of clothing she had on until she was only in cream colored slip with wide lace straps that just barely hung on her narrow shoulders. Hmmm, what should she do to stay awake? Elizabeth could read a bit, but she also ran the risk of falling asleep. She walked over to her window and stuck her head out looking up at the moon. It was a nice night, and Elizabeth felt compelled to go out in it. Yes, that’s what she would do, she would take a walk through the woods, and maybe with a bit of luck find a tree that produced resin she could extract. And so Elizabeth returned to her closet, and rummaged around until she found the clothes she was looking for. A pair of olive green pants that hung low on her hips that came down past her knees, a white tank top, and a dark brown work shit. It was the attire of a man or a worker and it would suit her needs perfectly for traipsing around in the woods. Elizabeth stripped off her under garment and pulled on the pants, then the tank top, then the button up shirt. Some high socks and boots and that should do it. She didn’t feel like being a meal for all the mosquitos that were sure to be out at night looking for blood. Elizabeth removed her brooch so she could button everything up, so the only skin that she’d be exposing would be her face. She softly went back down stairs and turned on a little light by the couch, so if Booker woke up in the middle of the night as he sometimes did, he would know that she was downstairs staying up late to read something and wouldn’t panic. It happened occasionally where Elizabeth just _had_  to finish something, read it cover to cover. She tucked her rose behind her ear, and riffled through the house until she found some tools that might work for what she needed to do, and with that the young woman headed out into the warm summer night walking with a purpose.

**~**

Elizabeth set her empty plate off to the side in the summer grass, her belly full of pancakes and fresh strawberries. She took a big gulp of water from the glass that she had next to her, giving her sore muscles a break. It had been an eventful and productive night, and Elizabeth smiled every time she saw the glittering orb of amber lying in the sun.  She had discarded the stem so only the beautiful red bloom of the flower was suspended in the resin. Elizabeth had lucked out and miraculously stumbled upon a tree that was already weeping the substance so she didn’t have to ponder the logistics of breaking into the bark itself to obtain what she was after. Elizabeth placed her flower in the thick of it and turned and manipulated the substance like thick honey until it she had a shapeless blob. And she had been sculpting the hunk of amber with a file and a few other tools ever since the resin cured hard enough for Elizabeth to safely handle it, she diligently worked the amber refining and giving the object a shape along with greater clarity and shine. Elizabeth could really see a part of the rose now and that encouraged her to keep at it. Only stopping to make breakfast for herself, and Booker as well, whenever he got out of bed.  Her glass was empty, she needed a refill and Elizabeth wearily rose to her feet cracking her back. Her shoes and socks and shirt were lying in a pile somewhere as the temperature rose as dawn broke over the sky a few hours ago. Only her thin, white cotton tank top and green pants stayed on. Elizabeth ate outside because she felt pretty grimy, she was sweating and there were smudges of dirt on her clothes as well as her skin from her labor. But, she had to keep hydrated in this heat.  When the young woman walked in she glance up to see the bathroom door close shut. Booker was awake. Good. She needed some music to give her energy to continue her task. Elizabeth turned on the radio, raised the volume and walked back outside with a fresh glass of water. _“Girl…you’ll be a woman, soon,”_ a man’s voice sang, as music filled the house.  Elizabeth sat back down on the grass, and put the chunk of amber back in her lap, her right hand working the file back and forth across the rougher surface. The wiry muscles in her thin arms flexed every so often in an effort to hold the object still. _“I love you so much, I can’t count all the ways I died for you girl and all they can say is ‘he’s not your kind’…”_ Ugh. She needed to stretch or something, her neck and shoulders were _killing_ her.  She set the amber aside, Elizabeth sprawled out in the summer sun, her movements supple as her flexible body stretched and contorted. _“Don’t let them make up your mind. Don’t you know girl, you’ll be a woman, soon. Please, come take my hand…”_ She lay on her back and reached up with her arms lacing her fingers together and pulled. Her tank top lifted up high and her pants slipped lower with the motion exposing the very tops of her hipbones, the bottom of her rib cage, and of course her smooth vulnerable abdomen. _“Don’t you know girl, you’ll be a woman, soon.”_ Elizabeth writhed in the grass with sensuous and controlled stretches. Then she lifted the bottom of her top to wipe the sweat from her face, exposing her breasts to the bright summer sun and the rippled glass window in the upstairs bathroom that you could only see out of instead of in, like a two way mirror. The singer crooned, _"Soon, you’ll need a man…”_

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker woke late in the morning, evidently having been in need of some rest. He knew he had had nightmares overnight, but he couldn't quite remember them. That was for the better, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream had given him. He felt incredibly dirty. He was covered in sweat, damp hair sticking to his face. He sat up in his bed, running a hand through his hair. At the motion he suddenly remembered part of his dream. Running his hand through his hair, just like that kid the other day. Ah yeah. He remembered playing cards with the kid. They sat at the edge of the lake in the warm grass, chatting about chicken breasts. He didn't remember who won, it was just a friendly card-game. Hm, that part was merely weird, that wasn't the part of his dreaming that made him sweat. He couldn't remember the part that had thrown him off somehow. Well, didn't matter. He was glad that he forgot. Probably something gruesome, he could be sure of that. He pushed the sheets aside, picking up a set of clothes that he'd wear today, keeping them in front of his crotch as he walked out of his room. His partially nude form strolled over to the bathroom right opposite of his room. He was quick, not wanting a chance for Elizabeth to see him half-naked. He shut the bathroom door behind him, dropping the clothes on a cupboard near the window. With a sleepy face he stood under the shower, turning it on. He stood there motionless, letting the warm water trickle down his body, getting rid of both dried and fresh sweat. He languidly cleaned himself, taking his time, letting out a long yawn at times. He lazily jerked off his morning wood, thinking of the woman from yesterday. How he had fucked her on the floor. How she breathed completely immersed in pleasure. How she spread her legs for him, eagerly holding up her skirt. How he shoved his cock into her, burying himself in her warm flesh. And, in addition, he imagined her sucking him off. Callous fingertips from all the work she did wrapped around his shaft and base. How she'd pump him, how he would come inside her mouth. How she would _beg_  for more, string of semen from her lips as she swallowed. Milking whatever he had left out of him. Hrrm... After a bit more fantasizing Booker came, spurting out his hot seed. He felt a little calmer after having masturbated, the dreams pushed to the back of his mind entirely. Once he was done with cleaning himself he stepped away from the shower, drying himself off. With the towel over his shoulder he shambled over to the cupboard for his clothes. He glanced momentarily out of the window before he looked at his clothes. Wait...what? Booker did a double take, glancing out of the little window again. Huh, so he wasn't just seeing things. Elizabeth lay outside, basking in the sun. She stretched comfortably and sensually, flesh soon exposed. She pulled up her shirt, revealing her perky breasts, at which Booker felt his stomach turn. He ignored the interested twitch of his dick. For fuck's sake! What was wrong with him!? Look away! What was he? Some peeping Tom? On his own _daughter_!? Angrily Booker ripped his gaze from the window, pissed off look on his face. He got dressed, refraining himself from looking out of the window.

As Booker trotted downstairs the scent of pancakes reached his nostrils. Hm, apparently she'd already made breakfast for him. As he entered the kitchen he noticed she had already done the few dishes from last night too. He put the remaining pancakes and strawberries on his plate, taking a fork and heading outside. He wasn't being particularly quiet, so Elizabeth could hear him coming, hopefully covering herself up, Booker thought to himself. He went over to her, sitting next to her in the grass with his filled plate. He took a few bites, glancing at her. "You look like you've been up all night rolling in the dirt." He stated bluntly, putting a strawberry in his mouth.

 **Elizabeth::** The girl raised an eyebrow at his crass comment, “something like that.” She said smugly with a wink. The sun flashed off her white teeth, her pink tongue curling as she annunciated the words. Elizabeth reached into the grass where she left the orb of amber that encased her prized rose showing it off. The parts that she had shaped and polished glittered brilliantly in the light, showing off the bloom’s perfect red petals through a pale yellow haze. “I went looking for tree resin and I got lucky and found one tree that was already practically gushing out sap. So…,” she paused, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “I seized the moment and here I am with a half-finished project. “ Elizabeth picked up one of her files and her delicate hand precisely worked part of the object’s rougher surface shaving off bits and pieces of excess material, working the file in a steady back and forth motion.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker looked at the half-polished amber orb. Huh...She had done that during the night, then? Or early morning, who knew. He took a closer look at it, the rose inside captured for eternity. Trapped. Isolated. It looked beautiful, its bloom contained, but Booker didn't like it. He was more for transience, all things coming to an end eventually, for better or worse. To force something to stay like it was in the moment...it was a little unsettling somehow. Preserved. Something you would not forget because it always existed. A memento. "It looks nice." He glanced at her as she kept working the piece of amber with her file. She had a steady motion as she worked on it, Booker slowly chewing on his pancake. He cursed his association of her steady movement with masturbation, looking back at his plate again. For some reason, he wasn't particularly hungry. He wasn't ill, was he? No, probably still full from the night before. He ate on quietly, glancing out at the lake. Hmm, he'd go for a swim later, maybe that would clear his mind. Though, he had just showered. Hm, whatever. Didn't matter. Once he finished his meal he pulled off his clothes, stripping down in front of Elizabeth until he was in nothing but his boxershorts. In his typical stride he made his way to the edge of the lake, stepping in. Once he resurfaced he let himself float on his back, his body forming the shape of an X. He closed his eyes, calmly breathing in the fresh air.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth watched Booker swim in the lake for a bit as she polished the amber in her lap. She let him be alone out in the water for a while, her instincts just telling her to let the man be for a bit. Elizabeth looked at the beautiful object in her lap and smiled softly. Almost done, she could finish the rest up later whenever she felt like it, nothing bad was going to happen to it. It was sturdy and perfect for being preserved. She set the orb and her tools to the side and took off her pants, now only wearing her top and her undergarments. Elizabeth walked in the bright summer sun over to the lake and sat down over the edge. The warm grass beneath her rear and her long slender legs dangling in the cool water felt good. She watched Booker float, not saying anything, she just gently moved her legs back and forth sending out a steady pulse of water towards him, quietly telling him that she was there.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    At one point Booker was drifting off to a very light state of slumber, Elizabeth's presence in the form of water ripples becoming fainter and fainter. His breathing was soft, like he was sleeping which he was, in a sense. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings, snoozing in the water. However, when he drifted off just a bit too far he sank underwater. The cold rush of water in his face instantly brought him back to his senses.  With a few movements he was back up to the surface again. he treaded water, spitting out some water and letting out a long yawn. He wasn't sure how long he had been out. Time seemed to fly by faster when you were slumbering. He ran a hand over his face. Why was he so tired anyway? It didn't make sense. He had rested well, hadn't he? He glanced at the edge of the lake, swimming over to it. He stayed in the water, but leaning in the grass with his folded arms, resting his chin on top of it. He didn't seem entirely awake just yet. It was like _he_ had stayed up all night instead of Elizabeth.

 **Elizabeth::**  Booker’s exhaustion didn’t go unnoticed by Elizabeth. She didn’t worry when she watched him go under the water, he was a strong swimmer and he would be fine. The man yawned and rubbed his face as if to try to make himself wake up. Booker swam over to her as if he was in a daze. Elizabeth placed her palms flat on the ground and with her legs still in the water she scooted over closer to him. She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on top of Booker’s head before both of her hands caressed the sides of his temples. Elizabeth’s fingers massaged him in small circular motions. “Hey, why don’t you help me swim for a little bit just so I don’t forget the stuff you already showed me, then I can make us something to eat and we can just lie down and take a little nap, huh?” Elizabeth asked softly. “That sound like a plan?”

 **Booker DeWitt::** The man basked in the tender touches. Soft kiss, calming circles at his temples. Hmm, that was the spot. He lazily opened his eyes at her offer. Yeah, that sounded pretty good, actually. Have a nice swim, and then some extra sleep. Maybe he'd woken up a lot during the night and simply didn't remember it. Maybe that was why he was so tired, or maybe his dreams had been exhausting, who knew. Either way, a nap sounded alluring. "Yeah." Was all the Booker replied. He took a deep breath, unfolding his arms and  moving in to wrap his arms around Elizabeth. Since she already had her lower legs dangling in the water he could just pull her in. She seemed to be wearing good enough clothes to swim in. Tank top, underwear. It would save them laundry. DeWitt  held her against him, mumbling a soft 'ready?' before he picked her up and pulled her into the water with him. With her tiny frame practically enveloped in his he slowly back away from the edge, lowering them into the water. It was cold, and he could feel her tensing up against him, goosebumps forming on her flesh. "Wanna go under for a bit?" He offered in regards to getting used to the temperature, still holding her against him as he treaded water.

 **Elizabeth::** She clung to Booker as he lowered her into the water, soaking up the warmth of his large body like a little sponge. Her eyes widened just a bit at his question. Still hanging on to him she gazed up at him, “only if you go under with me.” Elizabeth replied, unwilling to separate herself from him so soon.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "...Sure." Booker answered, not having expected an answer like that. When he was sure she was ready he took a regular inhale, and stopped treading water. They sank under the surface, cold water engulfing them entirely. Booker felt more awake because of it, his warm body taking in the chilly sensation. He felt Elizabeth's grip on him tighten just a little bit. He glanced at her, seeing her hair move around weightlessly in the water, floating beautifully at her sides. Goddamn she was breathtaking, just like the water itself. He wanted to keep her underwater, drown out everything that was a distraction from her being. Nothing but her. With a few strokes of his legs they were back up at the surface again. They had barely been under for a few seconds but it felt longer than that somehow. He looked at her as the water trickled down her face, hair motionlessly sticking to her face. "Better?"

 **Elizabeth::** Being submerged with Booker underwater was sublime, and Elizabeth took great comfort in it. She was almost sad when they broke the surface again. She blinked her eyes a few times clearing the water droplets that still clung to her long eyelashes, but nodded her head. “Yes…thank you,” she replied surging up in the water to place a light peck on Booker’s mouth. She started to move her legs in an effort to tread water on her own like he had showed her the day before.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Soon Booker felt her lips briefly against his. His lips were unresponsive as they always were, but he enjoyed the sign of affection. It was a kind of genuine affection he had never really had. A quick peck, a result of overwhelming feelings of admiration, which Elizabeth seemed to hold for him at times. Booker himself wasn't really affectionate in that way. He didn't give pecks. But, Elizabeth seemed to make up for what he lacked. He let her slide from him as she started to tread water, holding her by her waist. He was fairly sure she could do without his grip at this point, but he didn't want to take any risks. The sun shone down on them, warming Booker's scarred skin even more. "Hm, not bad...Do you still remember the circular motion?"

 **Elizabeth::**  “Yeah, I think so,” Elizabeth replied. She kept her fingers together and pushed the water aside using her small hands like paddles in the cool current. Elizabeth kept up the movements for a while, Booker only having to correct her every so often as she worked on building her muscle memory.  The young woman grew thoughtful as she looked up at Booker, feeling curious. “So, have you always liked to swim?” Elizabeth asked, keeping the question open ended without being obnoxious.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker lightly adjusted the position of her hand, showing her how to get most resistance in the water. He told her how if you retracted your hands it was best to keep them flat in the water to not get any resistance, so that you wouldn't push yourself back in the water while trying to go forward. Booker gave a soft chuckle at her question, as if something was really funny to him. "I believe so, yeah." He answered, digging into his memory. "When I grew older there were some years that I refused to swim, even if I would've had the opportunity." he adjusted her hand again. "I had terrible nightmares. Dreamt of being smothered. Drowned. Countless hands holding me down. I would struggle, but they wouldn't budge as water filled my lungs." He pushed her fingers together to form a proper paddle. "So I just--" Booker felt a warm fluid run down his nose, the red that dripped down into the water immediately dissipating. "I didn't swim." He concluded, an excruciating headache kicking in.

 **Elizabeth::**   She listened to him wide eyed. What awful dreams to have to turn something that you enjoyed into something that made you paranoid. She moved forward close to Booker when she saw his nose bleeding. Her slender hands gently gripped his face rubbing his temples like before. “What do you need? Do you need to get out of the water and into the house?” she asked rather briskly her protective instincts kicking in. They took care of each other and right now Elizabeth was trying to gauge how much pain Booker was in and how long it might last.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker felt lightheaded, his vision lightly distorted, her voice sounding faint. Goddamn that was a bad headache. And so sudden, too. He registered her touching him, but he didn't really _see_  her. "I uh..." he started, surprised by how loud his own voice sounded to him. He felt like he was about to pass out from pain, this was ridiculous. "I need to sit..." He managed to bring out, blinking rapidly. He just needed to get to the edge of the lake, that's all that was going through his mind somehow. Some stability. Don't let the water drag him down. He felt Elizabeth's hands comforting him physically, blood trickling down his chin, leaving a thin red trail. He cringed visibly at the painful throbbing in his head. They were getting closer to the edge, weren't they? Good, good, just get to the shore. Whether it was by accident or not, Elizabeth's hand slid down just a tad, barely brushing against his neck. Booker inhaled sharply, aggressively swiping her hand away from him in a reflex. His body was tense as he momentarily almost sank away in the water as if he had lost footing as Elizabeth drew her hand back. Fuck, that pain... It was as if he was crawling through mud rather than water as he tried to get forward. Mental images flashed before him, immediately forgetting them, but they were upsetting. After what seemed like an eternity Booker's large hands clasped around the grass. His body was trembling in pain, not able to drag himself out of the water in this state of disorientation. He breathed heavily, digging his forehead into the grass, as if that would help him get rid of the pain. Despite the pain he was being surprisingly quiet, apart from his ragged breathing.

 **Elizabeth::**  Shit. The pain was worse than Elizabeth initially anticipated. She awkwardly scrambled out of the water as fast as she could. Leaning over she grabbed Booker underneath his arms and hoisted him further out of the water with a determined huff. “Just keep your eyes closed, okay,” Elizabeth told him. The light from the sun would only make his head ache even worse than it already was.  She could quite lift his entire body out, but at least he wasn’t in danger of slipping back in. Elizabeth turned and ran towards the house, but what she was after was her glass of water. Dehydration made head aches worse and Elizabeth snatched the glass up in her hand and walked back to where Booker was as fast as she could without spilling any. She knelt down and put his head in her lap, pressing the glass to his lips. “Drink,” Elizabeth told him and Booker managed to take a weak sip. She sat the glass down and a gust of wind suddenly blew over them making her shiver with cold. Cold and darkness, that’s what he needed. Everything for a reason right, and so Elizabeth pressed Booker’s forehead to her cold stomach and enfolded him in her arms blocking out all light. She firmly rubbed the place between his thumb and index finger with her fingers, she massaged his temples, his head, and eyelids, touching and creating pressure at all the points on the body that she knew would relieve the pain in his head. And Elizabeth kept doing just that in between making Booker take sips of water, always keeping his head pressed against a cold part of her body. Her whole shivering body was made to be a soft compress to ease away the pain and block out any light that would bother him. Very slowly Booker’s shallow breathing became more even. “That’s it,” Elizabeth murmured caressing him with cold hands that soothed the inflamed burning hot skin that radiated pain.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker moved along with her the best he could as she dragged his body a little more ashore, his legs still dangling in the water. Goddamn that hurt like hell! He tried to focus on anything but the pain, but with his eyes firmly shut it was hard to focus on anything other than the headache. It was _insane_  how much it hurt. Booker would even go as far as to compare it to the stab of a knife. Don't pay attention to the pain, shut it out, think of something else. But he couldn't. He felt nauseous, images flashing in his mind, suffocating him, his eyes moving rapidly underneath his eyelids. He didn't even hear Elizabeth entirely as she told him to keep his eyes closed for a bit before she ran off to get him some water. She lifted him in her lap, and he attempted to keep himself up, struggling to swallow the water like she told him to, pain clouding his mind.  She took care of him, massaging him gently, giving him something to focus on other than the painful throbbing in his head which had turned into a constant flow of pain at one point. He lay perfectly still, afraid to move in case that would increase the pain. He basked in whatever darkness and comfortable cold he could find, Elizabeth providing him with what he needed, every so often letting him drink some water until Booker refused to drink any more. Eventually he calmed down, the pain ebbing away, Elizabeth's hand stroking his face. He dared open his eyes partially, glancing through his eyelashes. Dammit...Sudden headaches weren't uncommon, same counted for the spontaneous bloody noses that seemed to go with it, but he didn't think he had had one this severe just yet. This was ridiculous. He remained in position, letting Elizabeth rub his temples. Eventually he shifted, feeling good enough to get up. Small imprints of her top dug into his face, though his stubble covered up a decent amount of it. "Ah..." Booker murmured, seeing how he had bled on her, red stains smudging her tank top. Blood and dirt. He wiped his nose, blood on his hand. "Stupid headaches, they're gonna be the death of me." He mumbled, taking the glass and finishing the rest of it, chugging it down, putting the empty glass back down. He cleared his throat lightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. The pain was gone as sudden as it had arrived. "Thanks." He spoke, briefly glancing at her, glad she'd taken care of him, like she always did somehow.

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth stared at Booker as he thanked her for taking care of him. “Oh, no they’re not. Those headaches won’t be the death of you. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She said, the look on her ashen face deadly serious. Elizabeth got to her feet and offered Booker a hand up, which he took. As always a look of relief washed over her beautiful face when he could stand on his own power again. “Let’s get inside. Walk slow, and lean on me if you need to,” the young woman instructed him. They walked side by side in the tall grass their bodies never leaving contact with each other. It felt good and right to have their steps sync up, matching each other stride for stride, bodies pressed into one another. “Did you know that wolves walk this? Yeah, it’s called ‘parallel walking’ and closely bonded pack remembers frequently move around like this, side by side next to their friend,” Elizabeth told him, taking his mind off what just happened by being her sweet self, telling him random but interesting things. “And you can tell which one is more dominant and which is subordinate by how they carry themselves. The dominate wolf will carry himself higher, sort of like having _perfect_  posture, and the more submissive one will have their body lowered closer to the ground.” She continued on, her voice soothing him. They were almost to the house now. “And two dominant wolves that parallel walk carry themselves exactly the same, matching each other stride for stride. Pretty much telling all the other wolves in the pack that they better get the hell out of their way or suffer the consequences.” Elizabeth concluded with a closed lip smile, gazing up into Booker’s feral green eyes. Her anecdote about Alpha wolves not going unnoticed.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker appreciated her serious concern for him, but did not comment on it, like he often did. She got to her feet, offering him her hand as she stood. Partners? Booker grabbed her hand, pulling himself up with their powers combined. Partners. They walked side by side, heading towards their little home, grass trampled beneath Booker's feet. He hadn't noticed initially, but they were walking parallel. She pointed it out to him, making Booker look at their legs that moved in sync despite the size difference.  Like wolves, huh... Closely bonded pack members. He guessed you could call them that. They were seasoned in surviving together, they were tuned into each other, bonding during their hardships. He listened to her as they trudged on. She spoke of dominant and submissive wolves, how you could recognize them by how they moved. Booker knew _exactly_  what kind they were. If you messed with them it would be the last time you messed with _anyone_.  "Hm..."Booker gave a lopsided grin at her small smile. It looked a bit uncanny with the smudges of blood at his lips. They walked inside, and Booker went over to the kitchen sink, letting go of her. He was strong enough to stand on his own, leaning over the sink, cupping some water in his hand and splashing it in his face, washing off the remnants of blood. Much better, he didn't like the scent of his own blood. The pain may be gone, but he was still exhausted. That nap sounded more and more tempting. "Gonna lay down for a bit." He mumbled as he dried off his face with his dry hand, glancing at Elizabeth. Wasn't she gonna nap too?

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth watched Booker clean the blood off his face with interest. He announced that he was going to lay down , but there was a little subtle lit to his statement, and a imploring look in his eyes. “Good idea. I’m going to get cleaned up a bit and probably do the same.” Booker nodded back in acknowledgement. He seemed satisfied with her answer, and silently trudged up the stairs. Elizabeth followed padding behind him. Booker headed to his room and across the hall she headed straight into the bathroom.  Elizabeth shut the door quietly behind her and stripped off what remained of her soiled clothing, looking forward to a hot shower. It didn’t matter if it was hot and humid outside, she could never take truly cold showers. Her body was a delicate, thin thing with very little body fat, it _craved_  warmth even when she did her best to remain cool.  She opened a little cupboard and retrieved a small container of coarse salt crystals and brought them with her into the shower. It was routine for her to rub the salt all over her skin at least once a week or so to exfoliate all the dead skin off, keeping her sensitive skin baby soft. Elizabeth opened the jar and scooped some of the salt onto her hand and started vigorously rubbing it into her skin. She used it like she would use regular soap; with the exception of leaving her face alone.  Once that was done she put the lid back on tightly and set the container aside, then turned the knobs of the shower, cringing for the second it took for the water to go from cold to warm. With her back facing the shower Elizabeth took a step back into the spray of water.  She rinsed all the salt, dirt, and blood off her skin, enjoying the sleek surface of her flesh beneath her fingers. Elizabeth, then washed herself everywhere with the soap like normal. She sighed contently, she was warm, and wet and slippery as an eel. Elizabeth basked in the warm water for a bit, before turning the knobs off and stepping out of the shower. She returned her salt to its place in the cupboard, and opened another looking for a towel. Son of a bitch. Booker had used the last clean towel they had. She hadn’t realized that she had gotten behind on the laundry. Oh, well. Elizabeth combed through her hair letting her body air dry in the heat. Also, giving Booker time to fall asleep because she would have to walk to her room stark naked since there were no towels available to her.  She looked down at the bandage wrapped around her left hand and decided to see how her wound was healing. Elizabeth carefully unwrapped it and smiled at the scab she saw. The skin was mending, knitting itself back together. She put the cloth in their pile of laundry deciding that the wound no longer needed covering since her hand had already scabbed over. Elizabeth squatted down and peered through the key hole on the door looking across the hall into Booker’s room.  The man had a sheet over him and he seemed completely dead to the world. Good. She opened the door very, very quietly rising on the balls of her feet. Normally, you would think to avoid been seen naked you should scurry to safety. Not a good idea with Booker sleeping. Slow, carefully placed steps was the better approach to avoid waking him up. Elizabeth crept towards her room, pausing every so often to avoid a spot on the floor that creaked.

Eventually she got there and breathed a sigh of relief. Elizabeth walked normally over towards her nightstand. She opened a drawer and picked a jar of cream at random, she opened it taking a whiff. Mmmm, what a nice, rich scent; sweet almond oil with a touch of vanilla. Elizabeth scooped some of the pale cream onto her fingers and sat down on her bed rubbing the fragrant lotion into her skin. Her hands mapped her own body as she applied the cream feeling its softness, its edges and contours all smooth familiar paths beneath her fingers. Even when she was done, Elizabeth ran her hands over her svelte body once more marveling at its textures, silky in some areas and velvety and lush in other spots, the constant being its exquisite softness, even the little patch of hair on her pubic mound had no properties of roughness. Now, all she had to do was slip into something comfortable. Hmmm, what should she put on? Elizabeth settled on the cream color chemis that she had on yesterday. She fluidly slipped the garment over her head pulling up the loose straps in vain. One of them always eventually slid down her shoulder. She was ready for some rest, and with that she very quietly padded into Booker’s room. Elizabeth cautiously stepped over his boxers and crawled into bed with the man. He was covered up with the sheets so Elizabeth would remain on top of them so it wouldn’t be weird. Lightly fragrant and oh so soft, her petite form rolled to her side and she curled into Booker’s warm back scooting close to nuzzle him. Elizabeth closed her heavy eyelids and slept, and dreamed. In her dreams she was a cat with a coat of silky fur and she was being wondrously caressed, stroked, and petted. Her flexible body was pressed into the person that held her and she felt a gentle rocking sensation. Large, rough hands touched her everywhere. She felt calloused fingers stroking, and savoring the feel of the exquisite fur on her chest and belly leaving trails of heat in their wake wherever they roamed.

 **Booker DeWitt::** DeWitt crawled into bed after he'd stripped himself of the only piece of remaining clothing, dropping it at the ground. He lightly scratched the back of his neck before he pushed away the sheets and crawled into bed. It was warm in his room, but not as warm as it could be, luckily. Or maybe it was just that he was getting used to the heat slowly but surely. He pulled the sheet back over him, rolling to his side and nestling his head comfortably in a pillow. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, his body shutting down in no-time.

Booker walked alongside the beach, the sea at his right side calm. The soft sand was heavy to walk in, but it wasn't that bad, it just made him a little slower as he walked on. It was a nice day, the sun was high and there was barely any wind. Suddenly he wasn't alone anymore, a little girl holding his hand. He looked at her, little brunette with bright eyes, about...what, 6-10 years old? It was hard to tell, he didn't see her as much as he was simply aware of her presence. "When are we gonna find the voxaphone?" She asked, voice innocent but longing, looking up at her father figure. "I'm already looking." Booker replied to her, giving her a reassuring squeeze in her hand. Next thing he knew he was in a grand library. He stood between the shelves that were just a tad taller than he was. I gotta find it. The voxaphone is around here somewhere. He just knew it. He walked past a group of people that was just standing there near one shelf. They read books he had never really heard of, books that didn't _exist_ , He felt they were fathers too, but none of their kids were with them. Kinda like how he was right now. Were they looking for the voxaphone too? No, they were just reading and flipping pages, he had no rivalry. He could take his time looking. He walked past them, heading up some staircase that was not meant for customers, it was staff only. He headed into some little office, which resembled more of an apartment. Little kitchen. Little _disgusting_  kitchen. There was rotten and spoiled food everywhere on plates. Half eaten quiches, sunk-in strawberry pie, opened bags of whatever it was, contents pouring out, having grown moldy. Even for Booker's standards, the kitchen was filthy, and that said a lot. Smudges of god knows what sticking to light surfaces, egg-shells all over the place, half dried up yolk covering jars and cans of expired food.

The little girl was suddenly back. She took a plate and kindly cut off a piece of spoiled pie for him, a barely edible strawberry on top. She put it on a cute looking plate with floral patterns on it. She held it up to him, her arm stretched out above her. "Here, you need to eat." She said in a concerned way, worried about him. Booker didn't take it. The office was suddenly _her_ place. Her apartment. She lived here on her own. Alone. No supervision, leaving her in this disgusting mess that she found to be perfectly normal. She wiped up some crumbs and put them in her mouth. Where were her parents? No, she had none. It was just him taking care of her, he realized that suddenly. Why wasn't he around, then? Where had he been? The kitchen was incredibly cluttered, she was a hoarder of food. The table was full with consumptions, so was the counter and the chairs. The cupboards were stuffed too. You could barely walk in the place. He had no time for this. He had to keep looking. Find the voxaphone. He stepped through the door in the kitchen, ending up in a living room. There was no way to _tell_  it was a living room, but he knew it was. It was large and long, yet completely void of furniture. There was nothing but the wooden floor and the neatly pained walls. This room looked well-maintained. And empty. It didn't make sense to Booker. If the kitchen was so full and downright suffocating, then how the hell was the livingroom empty? Did she not occupy this space, even though it was hers? Why didn't she? He looked around the room, suddenly noticing the voxaphone in the corner. It didn't look anything like a voxaphone, it was a lot smaller and had a bright blue color, but he _knew_  it was what he was looking for. He picked it up, suddenly back at the beach. "Test, test..." Booker spoke into the little device. "Tess, tess." the device replied. Hm, it was a little off. He was sure he pronounced it right, but it didn't pick up on it. Weird. "Test, test." He said again, putting emphasis on the t's as he walked over to the edge of the water, glancing at the sea. Again 'tess tess'. He waded into the water, the cold fluid lapping at his feet. He tried again, as if the device was merely mocking him. "Test, test." He said, growing more annoyed with the voxaphone's malfunction. "Tess Tess." The voxaphone replied in the same gruff manner. " _Test. Test_." Booker said, not giving up on the device. " _Smother. Smother._ " Startled, Booker dropped the device in the water with a soft splash, his eyes wide. What the hell!  He backed away from the water as if the device could nibble at his feet. "Booker..." He whirled around at the familiar voice, seeing Elizabeth in front of him. She was naked, looking like she'd only just gotten out of the water, her hair wavy and dark. "Elizabeth--" She grabbed him by the neck, making him gasp in surprise. Her grip was like a vice. She was insanely strong, leading them back into the water. Booker had no choice but to walk along with her, trudging backwards. There was no escape, and he grew terrified as the water reached up to his waist at this point. He clawed at her hand, but it wouldn't budge. She was like a siren leading him to his grave. Beautiful and deadly, her blue eyes fixed upon him. She pushed him under, keeping him there. Several other hands shot to his neck, making sure there was no escape for him as he struggled desperately. One pair of hands gently rubbed his temples as he felt the water fill his lungs.

With a light gasp Booker woke, sweating. Dammit... He took a deep breath, feeling a comfortable pressure at his back. He glanced back over his shoulder. Elizabeth. How long had she been here? Hm... He lay his head back down. Man, that was an uncomfortable dream. Despite the image of Elizabeth holding him under still fresh in his mind he scooted just a bit closer to her, pressing her back into him  just a little bit for physical comfort. He was glad she was there, sleeping safely next to him. Damn, he was still tired, the dream hadn't made for a restful sleep at all. He let out a long sigh, trying to get some more sleep.

 **Elizabeth::**    The weight of Booker’s arms around Elizabeth’s petite form was seamlessly integrated into her dream. Her body languidly pressed back into his. She was still a cat, stretching and presenting herself to be caressed by the person who held her. Elizabeth half turned into Booker, her rear pressing into him with her upper body twisting towards him. The motion caused her chemise to shift, one of the straps falling further down her shoulder exposing a soft, fragrant breast.  She reached out towards one of the hands that stroked her tummy with delicate little paws grasping at it like she would a toy. No. Mine. Needle sharp claws dug into the hand when it tried to escape her. It couldn’t be tired of petting her already, she _needed_ affection. Why _wouldn’t_  it keep touching her? She was _so soft_ , the softest kitty there ever was. Elizabeth purred a low throaty noise of pleasure when her quarry stopped struggling. In her sleep she clutched one of Booker’s arms, hugging it to her exposed chest as she dreamed.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker was on the verge of falling asleep again as Elizabeth moved around a bit, pressing his hand just a little more against her stomach. Moving in her sleep, huh... Right, shit, he suddenly remembered how _he_ had moved around in his sleep. No, this wasn't a good position. He didn't want to wake up to himself fucking grinding against her. No way. He better back off. He was ready to roll over again, facing her with his back. He carefully pulled his arms away as to not wake her, but she wouldn't let him. Her fingers dug into him, nails denting his skin. He momentarily stopped his try before giving it another shot, gently pulling away. However, the nails dug into his arm firmer, and pulled his arms towards her, clutching it as she let out a content guttural noise. As a result, Booker's large palm brushed over her perky breast. He was surprised to not feel any fabric between their skin, his body tensing. To have her guide his hand over to a covered breast in her sleep would already be awkward, but nowhere near as awkward as this. He swallowed harshly, suddenly wide-awake. He lifted his hand, trying to pull away another time, but she wouldn't let him. Should he wake her so that she could let go? No, the embarrassment on both of their sides wasn't worth it. 'Hey, 'Liz, sorry for waking you but you made me grab your chest.' No, that wouldn't really work. The fact that her rear was pressing into him didn't make things better either. For as far as possible he moved his pelvis away from her. He stared at her exposed flesh, balling a fist with his caught hand so that the palm wouldn't envelop her soft smooth skin. For a second he saw the option to just spread his fingers, groping her, just a touch. His stomach turned in disgust at his own unwanted thought. Or was it from excitement? Hell no... She backed up a little, making them fit together perfectly again, making Booker's heart race as her rear pressed against his groin. Screw this. He wasn't wearing anything, and the sheet was too goddamn thin to conceal his dick growing stiffer. No no...Fuck. Stupid _dick!_ Always getting so easily turned on. He looked at her soft pink nipple in the dark, trying to pull away one more time, still caught in Elizabeth's grip. He felt his member throbbing, and he cursed every inch in his body for reacting like he did.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth slept on, oblivious to the delicious torture that she was putting Booker through. She held him in her grasp as she continued to dream. She affectionately nuzzled the hand that ran its fingers through her soft fur, touching her sensitive body. She must _really_  love him to bask in his attention this much, exposing places where she was vulnerable. Her front paws held the hand captured near her delicate face and she gave it an affectionate lick with her raspy pink tongue. It tried to squirm away, and she allowed it to escape only to recapture it quickly with her nimble paws. It delighted her. What a wonderful game.  Elizabeth played with the hand that touched her, allowing it to get away briefly before she’d unexpectedly brought it back to herself. But, she made up for all the teasing with plenty of generous cuddles and gentle love bites. For how long this continued Elizabeth would never know but it felt like an eternity until her sleep cycle fell into another phase, where she no longer dreamed. The brain waves that made up her pattern of sleep transitioned, and her muscles went slack, heart rate slowing down. Elizabeth’s consciousness slid into in that very brief transitional window. It wasn’t a deep sleep, but it had the potential of sending her further into slumber once again. But, whether Elizabeth would fall into another cycle of deep sleep or wake up suddenly was like a coin spinning in the air, there was an equal chance of either one happening.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker tried to pull away several more times, but kept being pulled back in her grasp. This was insane. She playfully bit his fingers, giving soft little licks, his fingertips in her warm mouth. She was toying with him. What the hell kind of dream was she having? Well, it seemed to be a good one, at least. After what seemed like an eternity her muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to pull away, pulling his finger out of her mouth, trail of saliva coming with him. Fuck. He associated it with someone giving him a blowjob, a trail of semen instead of saliva coming from their mouth as he pulled out. He rolled back over, facing her with his back. He tried to go back to sleep, but his hard member begged for his attention. This was fucking ridiculous... Stubbornly he lay there, he didn't know how long, but eventually he couldn't handle it anymore. He just _had_  to jerk off. And with that he carefully pushed the sheets aside as to not wake Elizabeth. He picked up his boxer shorts from the floor, taking them with him just in case as he strolled over to the bathroom. With a soft click he closed the door behind him. He leaned his back against the tiled wall of the shower as was his habit when jerking off here, and grabbed his warm cock. Fuck, it was wrong to do this... But hell, what could he do? He couldn't help it, right? Just because his body reacted too interestedly didn't mean that he as a person was interested. The two were separate. His body had a mind of its own when it came to what it found exciting or not. He couldn't force his body to not be interested in Elizabeth, it just reacted the way it did, like with most females. Elizabeth was no exception. His body didn't control him, but he didn't entirely control his body. He couldn't help it if he got a boner at the sight of his naked _daughter_. It was sick, and it repulsed him. He felt guilty and horribly ashamed for something he couldn't control. His body didn't seem to care. His cock just wanted another place to bury itself, much to Booker's dismay in this case. Damn libido. Angrily Booker started to work himself. He wasn't going easy on himself, didn't do it as much to fully enjoy it, but more to just get it over with. Have that moment of pleasure, have his dick grow limp again like it _should_  when sharing a bed with Elizabeth, and then get back to sleep. He pumped himself hard, frown at his face as he imagined someone sucking him off. Long hard strokes. Fast. Unforgiving. Tongue slithering around his head just like Elizabeth's tongue had slithered around his fingers. It didn't take him long to get himself close to the edge. He kept thinking of the woman sucking him off, but it just didn't work for him. He was close, but not close enough. He tried imagining more severe scenarios, her taking his whole cock, clinging to him, his hands in her hair as he thrusted into her. But, in the end, it was a random flash of memory that made him come. He involuntarily thought of Elizabeth sucking at his fingers, and it was enough to drive him over the edge. Booker hissed a curse as he ejaculated, feeling like shit because of that last thought. What the _fuck!?_ His breathing was heavy. Goddamn he was angry at himself...There was something _wrong_  with him, wasn't there? He turned on the shower, keeping it quiet, cleaning the cum off of him. He lazily dried himself off and pulled on his boxer shorts before he walked back to his room. He crawled under the sheet again, his back turned to Elizabeth who still seemed to be asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song on the radio was: "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon" Urge Overkill


	8. Black Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension builds between father and daughter as the both of them try to diffuse the inappropriate feelings growing between them in their own ways. Elizabeth blunders through the morally gray situation with a complete lack of self-awareness trying to shield her father from a sexuality that is bursting through her subconscious and sleep deprived Booker broods over his conflicted feelings towards his daughter and her new friends.

**Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open, slowly becoming acclimated to the darkness in Booker’s bedroom. Shit, it looks like they slept the day away. Their little cat nap had stretched on for hours. She yawned and stretched just a little bit. Elizabeth rolled over to see Booker’s scarred back as always, she listened for his breathing. Yeah, still asleep. Poor guy, that headache certainly wiped him out. She’d get up and throw some clothes on and start dinner while he rested, knowing that the smells of food would probably rouse him awake. She yawned again, and rubbed her eyes finally looking down at herself to see that her chemise had nearly half fallen off while she slept. Elizabeth hastily pulled the strap back up adjusting herself. Damn, that could have been weird.  She gently placed both feet on the floor and softly padded out of Booker’s room into her own. She grabbed a skirt and a waist shirt from her closet and lazily dressed herself, not bothering to even tuck her shirt in. Elizabeth rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and left the first few buttons undone because of the heat, and in bare feet walked down the steps and into the kitchen to start cooking something. She yawned and stretched in front of the refrigerator. Damn she was feeling really lazy. What could she make with minimal effort and thought? Elizabeth opened the door and took out six peppers, some beef, some cheese, some tomatoes, a small onion and a little clove of garlic, and a package of rice that was way in the back of the refrigerator. They didn’t eat rice too often, but Booker would most likely enjoy it cooked up and placed inside the stuffed peppers she was about to make. She started to boil a pot of water for the rice, while she cleaned and diced her vegetables.

 **Booker DeWitt::** It wasn't the scent of food that woke Booker, but the soft sound of footsteps belonging to Elizabeth who padded out of the room. He remained in bed, not feeling like getting up just yet. It wasn't until he smelled the scent of food coming from downstairs that he was motivated to get his lazy ass out of bed. What time was it? He looked at the little clock on his nightstand. Huh, seemed he'd spent most of the day sleeping. The nap had lasted far longer than intended. That headache really got to him, huh. Well, if he'd slept this long it meant he'd needed the rest. It wasn't really bad if it made him feel better. He trudged downstairs, his brown hair peppered with some grey strands in a glorious bed-hair stance. The scent of a warm meal welcomed him, and he rubbed his face, shambling over to his chair, sitting down in it rather uncouthly as if he was still half asleep. "Good morning." He said dryly, his voice raucous and lower than usual because of it. It sometimes happened if he slept too long, for whatever reason. He cleared his throat in an attempt to fix it. The table was already set, and Booker felt hungry. He ran a hand through his hair, giving a soft exhale as if he had just performed a heavy task. He took the bottle of red wine that stood on the table, bringing it to his lips and chugging its contents down, adam's apple moving up and down repeatedly. Much better. He put the bottle back at the table, wiping his mouth. "So what's on the menu?" He asked since he was unable to determine all the ingredients by scent alone. His voice was not as hoarse now that he'd had something to drink.

 **Elizabeth::**   She placed down the book of poetry that Jonathan had given her and turned towards Booker with a lazy little smile. “Have you ever eaten a stuffed pepper, Booker? If not, you’re about to.”  Came her cool reply, before she returned to her reading as she waited for the peppers to finish.  She turned the page interestedly, hmm, that guy was right. Walt Whitman wrote some pretty passionate poetry. Elizabeth loved the bluntness of how he used his language. It was crass at times, but still managed to retain its elegance. She heard the ding of the timer and her mouth watered, the peppers smelled wonderful. Elizabeth set the book down snapping it shut, committing to memory the page she was on, put on some mitts and opened the oven.  She carefully brought out the pan that the food was in and deftly walked to the table and set it down. “We have green peppers that have been stuffed with beef, tomatoes, rice, a little bit of onion and garlic, topped off with cheese. And the best part is that once you’ve eaten the insides you can eat the pepper too. “Elizabeth stated nonchalantly, describing the meal that she had placed before them. She picked up her fork and knife, using them to get a pepper on to her plate. Elizabeth slipped the knife beneath the pepper and used her fork to steady it and quickly moved it on to her plate, she repeated the motion and set a pepper on Booker’s plate. Elizabeth paused for a moment and then relocated a second pepper onto Booker’s plate already anticipating that he would at least eat two if not more. The she sat down in her chair with a sigh, poured herself some red wine and sipped it slowly, waiting for the pepper to cool down before she started eating it.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker patiently waited for the dinner to be finished, comfortably leaning back in his chair as he watched Elizabeth read, slowly waking up. He had slept most of the day, and it made him slightly disoriented. Like he was missing out. But in the end, it didn't matter. It's not like he'd never done it before. Back in his office when he was out of booze and cigarettes he slept more often during the day, simply to shut out his nagging thoughts. Booker always had been an easy sleeper. His body demanded he take rest, because Booker sure as hell wasn't going easy on his body.  All the running, all the fighting,  all the training, trying to keep in shape at least somewhat, another method to distract himself. Spending most of the day sleeping wasn't bad. If you needed rest, then you needed rest. It was as simple as that. And at last, the meal was ready, a small ding notifying them it was ready to be served. What she described sounded about as delicious as it smelled. Whereas Elizabeth wisely waited for her food to cool down a bit Booker was already digging in. Or at least, _attempting_  to. He sliced off a part of the pepper with his knife, piercing it on his fork along with some of the contents. He slid the food off the fork with his teeth. Damn, that was hot. He carefully chewed, his teeth slightly visible as he chewed with his lips parted a bit, letting out the warm steam of it.  He ate on, swallowing the bite once it had finally cooled down a bit. "Mh." Booker mumbled with a nod. That tasted really good! He eagerly ate on, eating faster the more the food cooled down. He finished his two peppers and another half of a pepper. He downed quite some wine, filled glass in his hand as he leaned back in his chair. good meal, good meal... Once he'd finished his glass and when Elizabeth had finished her meal he stood and cleaned the table, doing the dishes afterwards, hands emerged in the warm water. Water...It vaguely felt familiar, he felt like it had something to do with what he dreamed, but he couldn't remember what, exactly. Maybe that was for the better. He was silent, enjoying the aftertaste of the meal in his mouth. Eventually, he moved back to the table, emptying the pack of cards. He lazily but nimbly shuffled them in his hands while waiting for Elizabeth to dry off the few last items.

 **Elizabeth::**  The young woman put the last plate away and silently walked back to the table. Elizabeth sat down and pulled her chair in and Booker started to deal the cards out, causally tossing them across the table to her. She waited until all the cards were dealt, then Elizabeth gathered them up in her fingers fanning them out and analyzing her hand. Eh, it was so, so. It could have been better, but that was fate. Booker and Elizabeth played the first round, which was rather quick, Booker soundly beating her in a relatively short amount of time. He smirked at her, a slow tug of his lips at one side of his mouth, Elizabeth just shrugged with a careless smile in response. These things happen. The wide neck of her waist shirt partly fell down with the motion, revealing a smooth shoulder sprinkled with a light smattering of freckles.  Unthinking she slowly tugged the fabric back in place. It was her turn to deal. Elizabeth gathered the cards up in her hands, beginning to shuffle them when she remembered the bowl of berries that she left chilling in the refrigerator. She stopped and set the deck down and rose, holding out an index finger, “hold that thought.” Elizabeth went back into the kitchen and retrieved the berries, on her way back to the table she turned on the radio. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about these,” she muttered, setting the bowl down where the both of them could graze on the fruit. “I had them chilling in the refrigerator. My eyes are wide open but, apparently my brain is still asleep,” Elizabeth joked, making light of her moment of forgetfulness. She scooped up the deck in her hands again and smoothly shuffled the cards, enjoying the crisp sound they made as she did so.

Both of them picked at the fruit as they continued to play. Elizabeth watched the cards, Booker watched her. Carefully avoiding reaching into the bowl of berries at the same time as she did, but Elizabeth hadn’t noticed this little nuance. She was too absorbed in playing, occasionally humming along to whatever melody came out of their little radio. Booker played his last move, and she stared at the cards. “Damn…that’s a _really_  good move,” Elizabeth commented. _“Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell...”_ a woman’s voice purred out of the radio accompanied by a steady, sensual beat. She ran her tongue along her smooth teeth and arranged her cards, “ _but_  not good enough.”  Elizabeth laid out her cards neatly on the table. “ _Sun is settin’ like molasses in the sky.”_ The woman sang enticingly. “Full house,” Elizabeth declared with easy confidence. Booker may have won the first game, but the second round belonged to her. Booker tipped his wine glass towards her in modest approval before downing the contents with his head thrown back. Elizabeth watched the liquid move down the man’s exposed throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.   _“Black velvet and that little boy’s smile. Black velvet with that slow Southern style. A new religion that’ll bring ya to your knees. Black velvet if you please…”_ Elizabeth found herself enjoying the song, it was growing on her. Booker poured himself another glass of wine, then gathered up all the cards on the table in his large but nimble hands and began shuffling the cards for the third round.  Elizabeth contented herself to a ripe raspberry, her lips having already become stained with the deep red color and hummed along with the music matching the woman on the radio’s rich intonation.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth replied with a smile to his faint smirk at winning the first round. She shrugged, causing the fabric to slide off of her shoulder, revealing her smooth skin. Booker's mind momentarily flashed to how when they napped the strap of her chemise had slid off in the same way. For a second he was irrationally worried that again he would have a clear view of her soft breast, but luckily no such thing happened. A lightly freckled shoulder was all he got to see, and he was glad about that. It was worse enough to know his hand had been on his daughter's naked flesh, he didn't want to go through something similar ever again. He just wanted to forget, his shame for the incident running deep and gnawing at him. It was so very repulsive, and he was glad she hadn't been awake to witness the happening. Then again, had she been awake the awkward situation would never have existed to begin with. Unlike him, she didn't need to forget. You couldn't forget what you didn't know. She subconsciously covered her shoulder up again, occupied with dealing the cards, suddenly standing up and telling him to hold that thought. Hold that thought? The thought of how ashamed he was infringing on his daughter's privacy in such a disgusting way? No, he'd rather not. He wanted to forget. Elizabeth put the bowl of fruit on the table within their reach, making a lighthearted comment about her forgetfulness before she started to deal the cards. Booker made sure their hands didn't touch, not reaching for the bowl when she did. He picked out the raspberries, stuffing them eagerly in his mouth. So very delicious. A soft yet toned sweet taste, the texture of the minuscule spheres pleasant against his tongue. Stuffing another one in his mouth and pressing it against his palate he played his cards. There, try to beat _that_  if you can, he thought smugly as she ran her tongue over her teeth. And surprisingly, she did, playing her cards. He tipped his glass to her in a kind movement, not upset by her unexpected win. Well played. And with that he unceremoniously downed the rest of the wine in his glass, throat working to keep up with the constant flow of liquid. After having refilled his glass Booker took hold of the deck, shuffling it with that certain dexterity. He dealt the cards, reaching for the bowl another time but halting as Elizabeth had the same idea. He waited for her to pick something and then picked another few raspberries for himself. The bowl would be empty quite soon at this rate. Elizabeth hummed along with the radio, to a song he'd heard once before, he thought. He liked the languid but sensual beat of it and the seductive singing, though he did not pay much heed to the lyrics, too consumed by the cardgame. The third round took a pretty long time, Booker's face calm and indifferent as he concentrated. In the end, she won. It was dark outside, the light in the kitchen comfortably cozy in the warm night. Elizabeth played her cards, on a winning streak, it seemed. Not bad, not bad. Booker sipped from his drink. As he noticed her gathering up the cards to put them back in the deck he halted her with his voice. "One more round." He said, not being as tired as he would usually be around this time. He had the long nap to blame for that. After this, he'd go to sleep. He took the cards from her once he put his glass back on the table, shuffling them and dealing them. The last round was significantly shorter than the previous one, but still pretty long. The fourth round belonged to Booker, who was the last one to show his cards. "Full house." He said flatly, with a hint of content in his voice. That was that. He stood up from his chair and downed the last of his wine, proceeding to gather the cards, and put them back into the box. "Night." He said, ready to head upstairs.

 **Elizabeth::**   They played one more round, which Booker won and Elizabeth was glad of it. It was nice to be on equal footing with the competitive man. He wished her a good night, and she rose from her chair and gave him a brief hug; nothing too touchy feely, just a light press of bodies to show her affection. “Good night, Booker.” She said kindly, going over to the radio and switching it off.  Elizabeth picked up her book of poetry off the kitchen counter as she heard Booker shamble up the steps. She yawned and stretched and decided to head up to her room. Elizabeth got undressed and crawled into bed with her book and read until her eyelids were growing heavy. She snapped it shut and placed it on her night stand, then pulled on the chain of her lamp, extinguishing the light. Elizabeth pulled the sheet over her body, curling over on her side comfortably and shut her eyes.

She was in a small wooden cabin out in the middle of the woods and she wasn’t alone. There was an old woman with her. The woman had long silvery gray hair and black eyes. It was her home, but Elizabeth was allowed to stay. The place smelled like earth and wild flowers, but underneath that was the scent of blood. The walls were covered with bones of many different animals, trophies, and Elizabeth didn’t dare ask how the crone had gotten all of them. This is what Elizabeth knew about them. They were all the skeletons of predators, _male_  predators. The bear, the mountain lion, the wolf, even birds of prey  hung from the walls and lined piled up on wooden shelves. Elizabeth was wearing a gown of white silk free of embellishments. The woman was in another room preparing something for her, and Elizabeth sat in a wooden chair waiting for her. Finally, she emerged parting a tattered black curtain as she approached Elizabeth. The lady wore black rags as well and she had two glass jars in her hand. One was black, the other was red. One was for Elizabeth to drink and the other was for her to be anointed with, like perfume. But, she had to choose which one was the correct bottle for each purpose. You drink from the black jar and scent yourself with the red one. Elizabeth told the woman this, unafraid and without hesitation. The old crone smiled her approval. Wrap yourself in the scent of innocence, but on the inside may your heart be as black as coal.  The black jar was placed in Elizabeth’s lap, and the woman opened the red bottle. The oil went on Elizabeth’s wrists, ankles, below her ears, her breasts, her groin, the lips of her mouth, and the final drop was placed on her forehead. Elizabeth popped the cork on the bottle in her lap, her lips wrapping around it. She drank and the substance burned down her throat like white hot fire. And she was lying on her back in the tall grass, waiting beneath a full moon. Elizabeth felt dizzy, and it felt like a heavy weight was on her chest were she couldn’t move. In fact she couldn’t move a muscle at all, only her arms a little bit. She looked at her hands in the pale light and watched them change. She no longer had her own little hands. Elizabeth had the large hands of a man. She knew those hands, the A.D brand was burning bright red on her right hand. Booker’s hands twitched and moved over her vulnerable throat. She had no control over them, but that was the whole point. Booker’s hands would tell her his secrets. Elizabeth trembled, her flesh felt electric beneath them as they roamed her body.  Squeezing, caressing, and groping…when they reached her groin she let out a helpless moan as those long fingers began probing her and manipulating her flesh. They teased Elizabeth as they relentlessly worked her into a state of arousal. Before she knew it her breathing had transformed into heavy, labored pants and her hips undulated from the pleasure that was blooming inside her body.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker lay in his bed, naked in the heat with only a sheet covering his body. He was on his side, his usual sleep position, but sleep would not come to him. His eyes felt like they wanted to be open, not wanting to stay closed for too long. He wasn't tired. Well, _he_  might be, but his body wasn't. He tried lying on his back instead to get some sleep. No luck. He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, looking at the patterns of the wood. He tried to stay still, not move around too much, maybe that would convince his body that it should be resting. It didn't work, and at that point Booker even lay on his stomach, his neck awkwardly bend to the side. Dammit... Why couldn't he just sleep? He shouldn't have napped for so long, that was sure. He kept tossing and turning, not able to find a good position to sleep in. He grew more annoyed at his own inability to sleep as time progressed. Booker was an easy sleeper, always had been, but even he had trouble sleeping now. He ran a hand over his face, tangled up in the sheet from all the rolling around. Should he jerk off to make himself more relaxed? Sleep with an afterglow clouding his mind? Hm, no, he didn't feel like it. He wasn't aroused in the least, he was merely annoyed. He just wanted some goddamn sleep, he didn't feel like getting himself aroused. He wasn't in the mood for it. Not now. He let out a sigh, reluctantly considering the option of joining Elizabeth in her bed. He slept easier knowing she was near him, whether it was because he could keep an eye on her or her keeping an eye on him didn't really matter. He just slept better with company. A presence that subconsciously offered him comfort. He stared up at the ceiling again. No, he didn't think it was a good idea to join her. What if something happened like during their last nap together, his hand on her chest? Or the time before that, him grinding into her in his dream-like state? Or walking in on her masturbating? He was not up for any of those. He didn't know why, but his luck didn't seem to be on his side lately. Well, he guessed he had a knack for getting into trouble, though this kind of trouble was more subtle. And he was the only one suffering from shame, too, considering Elizabeth was blissfully unaware of any of these incidents. He let out a small sigh. He _knew_  they were perfectly capable of sleeping in one bed without creating an awkward situation, they had done it quite a lot since they lived here at the Sodom Below. Never any problems. Simply sleeping back to back. No spooning, no cuddling, no embracing. None of that. Just sleeping, safe in each other's presence. That was all there was to it. So why didn't it seem to work out lately? Stupid coincidences, that was what it was. Inconvenient circumstances. It didn't mean it would always be like that. They were exceptions. With that thought in mind Booker went to sit up, crawling out of his bed and pulling on his boxer shorts. He softly padded over to Elizabeth's room. Sleeping near her would certainly help him get some rest, like it always did. He just wanted to sleep, that was all, and she could help him with that. Warily, not stepping into the room, he glanced at her from the doorway. He bit back a frustrated grunt. He fucking _knew_  it. He should've just stayed in bed, he thought to himself as he saw her fingers slide in and against her soft pink flesh. If he had just trusted his gut he wouldn't have had to hear her heavy breathing of pleasure or the slick little noises for that matter. Wouldn't have to see her hips bucking softly. Wouldn't have to witness her fucking herself. Booker abruptly turned away, out of sight, heading back to his room, frustrated and disappointed for not being able to get some proper sleep. Well, he would just have to deal with it. He'd fall asleep eventually he supposed. He slipped out of his boxers again, crawling into bed. He silently wondered if she had even heard him approaching. No, of course she hadn't, otherwise she would've tried to cover up. That's what Booker did whenever he heard her approaching while he was jerking off. That was the downside to always having the doors of their bedrooms open; you barely had any privacy, not enough to masturbate in peace, at least. And that was why Booker usually jerked off in the shower, not wanting Elizabeth to walk in on him. Luckily the few times that it had happened he'd easily been able to hear her footsteps. She was quiet, but Booker was trained to hear well, and even if not; his gut helped him out a lot. Well, either way, if she wanted to masturbate, that was of course fine with him. It just surprised him to walk in on her doing so twice in a week now. Maybe she had changed the pattern of when she masturbated, who knew...Or rather, _where_  she masturbated. Did she masturbate in the shower, like him? Possible. That would explain why he'd never ran into her getting off before. He tossed to his other side, trying to get comfortable again. Well, it sucked he couldn't sleep well in her presence with that new development, but he had no choice but to put up with it. He ignored his faintly engorged cock, closing his eyes and hoping to drift off to sleep soon.

                                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth floated on her back in the middle of the lake, listening to the pleasant rattle of cicadas singing to one another. It was early in the day and it was already boiling hot, and she had gratefully retreated to the cold water of the lake not minding the goose bumps she always got when she went in. She had become a fairly decent swimmer in the past couple of weeks, going out almost every day with Booker. Elizabeth steadily made progress and grew more and more independent in the water, and apparently her progress had gone well enough that this time Booker trusted her to be alone in the lake; which was fine but somewhat confusing to Elizabeth, because instead of going for a swim he chose to work in the garden. Being alone was peaceful, but she missed the company. Elizabeth missed sneaking up on him in the water, she missed the defiant squirming whenever he told her to hold still, randomly thrashing out and splashing Booker just because she could, or whenever he sent a giant forceful wave of water towards her in revenge when she wasn’t looking.  In fact it was the only time Booker seemed to relax was when he was in the water, because lately it seemed like he was just a touch more wound up than normal. He still operated in his emotional base line of casual indifference, but it was edged. There was curtness to his words whenever he spoke, and at dinner it seemed to Elizabeth that Booker set his glass down with a little more force than necessary. Hell, yesterday he didn’t even say hello to Lauren and Jonathan, which he usually only gruffly acknowledged, but still it was acknowledgement. Elizabeth hadn’t even heard or seen Booker heading towards them at the spot they sat in the grass in front of the library talking about books they had read, art, or just other random things. Her two new friends had been testing her to see if she remembered the signs they taught her last week. Jonathan’s cousin, Lauren wasn’t completely deaf but she was considerably hearing impaired and used sign language to communicate. Elizabeth had been fascinated with it, talking with just your hands so she jumped at the opportunity to be able to learn how it worked when they offered to teach her. Yesterday Elizabeth had been so absorbed in trying to remember everything perfectly she wasn’t aware of Booker’s presence until he was almost on top of them. Jonathan was in mid motion of rearranging the position of her hand when Booker’s large hand suddenly appeared in front of her line of sight obliterating Jonathan’s face. Elizabeth gripped the familiar warm and rough hand, and she was shocked at the amount of tension that quivered in Booker’s body. His fingers behaved like the angry steel jaws of bear trap and they enclosed around her tiny hand _hard_  and it felt like she had instantly floated to her feet. “Time to go,” was all he said, and Elizabeth had to turn awkwardly to wave good bye as Booker herded her away.  

For the rest of the day she _felt_  Booker’s eyes on her, those intense green irises burning holes right through her. He didn’t try to hide it either. The man just sat at his chair with his long legs sprawled in front of him, with his arms crossed smoking one cigarette after another and frequently refilling his wine glass. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end, and it there was a lead brick in her stomach, but she didn’t dare make eye contact and Elizabeth didn’t know why. But, while she was cutting up vegetables for dinner Elizabeth couldn’t help sneaking quick glances at him. Booker DeWitt was the poster boy for tall, dark, and handsome. Yeah, he was handsome alright. Handsome and _dangerous_ , like one of those majestic lions that was pretty to look at, but would rip your arm out of its socket if you tried to touch it.  That was what Elizabeth felt like in the silence. But, the funny thing about it was that even though she hesitated to speak, the hesitation to _touch_ Booker was absent. In normal circumstances strained silences would compel someone to say away from the other person, but Elizabeth just wanted to embrace him, soothe him. So, she drank more wine than usual last night to settle her nerves. Booker drank more too. Elizabeth remembered how the older man stared at her dexterous hands shuffling the cards all nice and smooth…but at the end of their last hand of poker Elizabeth finally had enough of the silence and asked him, “okay, what the _hell_  is going on with you? You’re thinking so hard you look like you’re trying to disarm a bomb without it blowing up in your face.” Those long dark eye lashes floated up and Booker smiled a little at her comment. It wasn’t a happy smile, but Elizabeth got up from her chair and finally did what instinct compelled her to do. She threw her arms around Booker’s shoulders as he still sat firmly rooted in his chair. Elizabeth pulled Booker close and nuzzled his face attacking his sand paper cheeks with a flurry of kisses, “you _will_  have my affection Mr. DeWitt, and you will _fucking_  like it,” Elizabeth declared stubbornly as she embraced the ornery man while he half-heartedly squirmed to get away. Eventually, she had Booker laughing, his closed off body language opening up under her devoted supplications. At the time she was too tired to notice that he hadn’t answered her question. Elizabeth was just thrilled to see the tension seep out of him, she held Booker’s face in her delicate hands telling him, “you are too handsome to be frowning all the time, I won’t allow it.” Elizabeth felt the muscles in his cheeks lift up beneath her hands as he smiled, wistful pull of his lips without the bitterness. She rewarded it with a peck on the nose and just as she was going for his cheek Booker moved his head and her warm mouth wound up pressing into his Adam’s Apple. Elizabeth had the wild urge to lick and bite down on that rough bulge of flesh, but the thought surprised her so much she backed away. Why would she want to do that? Elizabeth bid him a good night and headed to bed, feeling a little dazed but attributed it to too much wine.

She woke up in the morning in a tangle of bed sheets as usual, her sex wet and pulsating between her legs. Elizabeth was unsurprised at the moist spot she saw on her bed, the masturbation dreams kept continuing. They didn’t occur every night, but it was frequent enough that Elizabeth thought that she needed to stay in her own bed. What if she had the dream while she shared a bed with Booker and that woke him up? Although she really missed the comfort of having him next to her in bed it was too much of a risk to go sleep with him. Since he hadn’t crawled into bed with _her_  over the past three weeks now, Elizabeth assumed that their habit was dissolving. Stupid dreams, she thought as she buoyantly floated over the lake’s surface. Elizabeth half opened her eyes when she felt a peculiar sensation on her breast, she saw that a monarch butterfly had landed on her right nipple deciding to perch there. Well, hello. Where did you come from? Soon a second one joined it, and then another, and another, until most of her torso was covered with their shimmering wings as they landed on her. Elizabeth kept perfectly still not wanting to disturb them. She thought it was very sweet that the diaphanous creatures were obtaining the moisture they needed by sucking the water off her skin. She smiled feeling special to be caught in this random, but wonderful moment. Above the mating calls of insects Elizabeth heard Booker’s footsteps coming towards her through the grass.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker spent his time in the garden today, pulling out the weeds that grew rapidly in this warm weather. His knees dug into the soil, a bucket partially filled with weeds standing at his side. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the early morning sun already assaulting him. He hadn't chosen to go for a refreshing swim today, instead maintaining the garden, that stuff had to happen too, you couldn't always pick joy over work. And that was what swimming with Elizabeth was; _joy_. He felt a lot more relaxed in the water, especially now that she knew how to swim on her own. They'd gotten to the point where they could be more playful in the water, no longer having to worry about the girl drowning without his grasp. They didn't have to touch so much in the water anymore in order for him to teach her properly, which made him less tense. Even though it was incredibly hot out today he didn't seem to mind too much. It was nice and tiring labor, keeping him occupied. He pulled out another unwanted plant by its roots, stuffing it in the bucket. Whereas swimming made him less tense there were some things that made him slightly uncomfortable lately. For starters; the new friends Elizabeth had made. Now, Booker was all for it for Elizabeth to get some friends. He thought it was good for her to socialize. She had been locked up in a tower all her life, her only friend a giant mechanical bird. So, he had been happy she made some new friends. She seemed happier in their company. Finally having some contact with people other than him; he wasn't exactly the most enjoyable company. He had his moments, but generally he was still the indifferent grump, especially lately. Jonathan and Lauren seemed like better company. Lauren was okay with Booker, she was a sweet girl, though he never really had a proper conversation with her. Unlike the three of them, Booker had no knowledge of sign language, so he usually kept it to a brief hello, his body language kind. Jonathan on the other hand was not as likable in Booker's eyes. He seemed okay at first, he was friendly, witty, but also a wise ass. He didn't like the kid's attitude, but what he liked even less was how he looked at his daughter. He laughed just a little _too_  hard at her witty comments, had such an open and welcoming body language around her, he didn't like how he hung to every word that came from her lips. He usually kept to himself while they did whatever they enjoyed in their little house. The house wasn't that large though, so he could always hear them or catch a glimpse of them, but that was it. Booker made sure to at least be somewhat nearby. It was alright, he didn't interfere or anything, he just let them be. Earlier however, when he went to pick up Elizabeth at the library after he had had another short round of fucking, he had seen _how_  Jonathan held her hand. Trying to mold her. Teaching her how to hold her hand to convey the message in sign language. Engaged her. Booker didn't like how his hands lingered over hers, his look more fixed upon her than on her hands. He was shamelessly admiring her. Jonathan rubbed him the wrong way, and his protective paternal mode kicked in. He wanted to keep that hormone-overflowing kid away from his daughter. He saw him as a threat to Elizabeth's well-being. Like Jonathan was luring her into a trap that she wasn't aware of, naivety making her blind to his subtle loving gestures. If she couldn't see it and take action then he'd just have to do it for her. And so, he stepped in on them, breaking the contact between her and Jonathan by holding his hand out. "Time to go." He pulled her out of harm's way, not acknowledging her friends as he led her away.

They had their dinner in silence, and they played their cards in silence too. He was closed off, his body language uninviting and tense. He smoked a lot that day, an attempt to calm his nerves, keeping his mouth and mind occupied. Thing was; Jonathan wasn't the only thing bothering him. He hadn't been sleeping well the past few weeks, and he attributed that to them not sleeping in each other's presence. His sleep wasn't restful at all, he had many nightmares. Booker had decided to not go into Elizabeth's room anymore, not wanting to see her masturbate. So, he had figured she would just come to his bed instead. Let her come to him. That way they could still sleep in the same bed without any trouble. But, unlike he had expected, Elizabeth hadn't even crawled into bed with him even _once_. He figured she wasn't interested in doing so anymore, their habit subsiding. His conclusion was that she'd rather masturbate at night than to sleep by his side. Well, he _understood_  that, hell, he probably jerked off more than she did, but that didn't mean he liked her absence. Sleeping without her was difficult, she took that from him. So, he was irrationally ticked off. He understood, but he was still a tad pissed off at her. He wasn't being curt on purpose, it just sort of happened. He was tense, and it was clear he did not feel like being pushed around in any way. He seemed like he could snap at the tiniest thing, a foul mood on his face with a frown. At last, Elizabeth dared to break the silence, her comment making Booker give a non-genuine grin, his eyes not showing amusement. Booker didn't answer, rather avoiding the subjects of his discomfort. She moved over to him, wrapping him in an embrace and assaulting his face with soft quick kisses. Booker backed away languidly, not in the mood for being touched, but her arms kept him in place. Though after a little bit he could see the lark of it, even though he still tried half-heartedly to avoid her touch. He opened up a bit, his body relaxing under her touch, even letting out a chuckle. He smiled at her complimenting his looks as her hands held his face, stroking his ego. She continued the planting of quick kisses, Booker playfully trying to get away. And then, she accidentally went a little too far with her affection, her warm lips pressed against his adam's apple. That was too intimate. Booker's neck was a very sensitive spot, vulnerable, a part of his body that could make him shiver in anticipation. He didn't want his daughter kissing an erogenous zone. His mood made a turn-around at that, the laughter from both of them instantly faded. There was an awkward tension in the air, which they both ignored, wishing each other a good night and going to bed.

Booker kept working in the garden for a while longer, sweating due to the warmth and the exercise. He looked up at the sun, it seemed to be around midday. He wiped his hands on his wide shorts, the only piece of clothing he wore in this heat, sun shining down on his bare back. Well, time to make some lunch, he was hungry. He head back inside, washing his hands before he started to prepare a light meal. He took a few slices of bread, and some strawberries from the fridge. With a small knife he peeled off the little green crowns. He cut the strawberries in tiny little slices, spreading them over the slices of bread. Nothing fancy, but it was tasty enough. With plates both for Elizabeth and him he head outside again, long grass brushing against his hairy legs. He saw her floating comfortably in the water, some butterflies at her chest, hm... "Food." He said with raised voice so that she could hear him properly. He walked further to the edge of the lake, sitting down with the plates in his hands. His lower legs dangled in the water. He put Elizabeth's plate next to him, starting to eat from his own plate, chewing slowly in the heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to more regular updates! :)
> 
> Song on the radio: Black Velvet- Alannah Myles


	9. The Story of O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A literary classic opens Elizabeth's eyes to the subjects of physical intimacy and abuse, and she struggles to express her feelings about it to Booker.

**Elizabeth::** Elizabeth heard Booker call her over for some food, and her carelessly floating body shifted. The movement gently startled the collection of butterflies and they lit off her body flying away. She flipped over and dove under the water and swam towards where Booker sat at the edge of the lake. Her head broke through the surface of the water and she floated over to the edge and planted her hands on the grass and hoisted herself up and out with wiry strength. The warm sunlight hit her body _just_ right to highlight the way her soaking wet little blue chemise clung to her lithe body, her nipples stood out sharply, the outline of her breasts visible along with the sharp curve of her hips. She sat down next to Booker with her feet in the water taking her plate. “Thanks,” she mumbled taking a large bite of bread with fresh strawberries. “And it’s official. I am _delicious_ ,” Elizabeth announced with a bored voice. Booker raised an eyebrow at her comment. She sighed, “The butterflies Booker…butterflies taste through their _feet_. You saw how many I had land on me. The _obvious_  conclusion is that I must be pretty damn tasty. Better that the butterflies know this information than mosquitos.” Elizabeth mused. She felt around in the tall grass for the book she brought outside with her, she hadn’t started to read it yet, but now seemed a good time. Truth was she almost forgot about it, it was the book she took out of the tear and it had still been inside her jacket pocket all this time. _The Story of O._  

 **Booker DeWitt::** Elizabeth swam her way over to the edge, Booker glancing at her pale silhouette underwater her as she swam, proud of how good of a swimmer she was at this point. Yeah, he'd gotten pretty far by being patient with her. He even trusted her to swim alone now. She crawled out of the water, at which point Booker glanced away from her, avoiding looking at her body which undoubtedly would be well accentuated with the light wet fabric sticking to her skin. When she commented on how she delicious she was Booker did turn his head in her direction, raising a questioning eyebrow. What was that supposed to mean? Only thing he involuntarily thought of was the taste of skin, or eating someone out, though that was definitely not what she meant, he knew that. Though, he was pretty close when it came to skin. Butterflies, huh... They tasted with their feet? Huh, that was weird, he never would've guessed. "Careful with the butterflies then, don't want to run into a pile of bones." Booker stated dryly as if butterflies were ravenous flesh eating insects, glancing back at the lake and taking another bite. They ate in silence, Elizabeth reading in the meantime. Once Booker was done eating he put the plate aside while chewing on his last bite. And with that, he slid into the water, his shorts soaking up the water and becoming quite heavy. And with that, he dove off, crawling forward once he resurfaced, heading to the other side of the lake, basking in the cool water. Much better... 

 **Elizabeth::**   She took her feet out of the water and folded her legs beneath her getting comfortable as she begun to read. Elizabeth's plan was to read maybe a chapter or two then swim some more. But, that was completely thrown askew by the words that were written in plain text right in front of her face. _What. The. Fuck._ A few pages in and she could feel her face turning bright red. She got up and placed her thumb in the spot where she stopped reading. Elizabeth walked over to a nearby tree and sat beneath it moving directly out of the sunlight, but that wasn’t what she was hiding from. She was hiding from the embarrassing blush that she could feel crawling on her face and chest. Elizabeth moved while Booker was swimming, she did _not_ want him to see the look on her face. So, she settled down resting her back beneath the tree and stretched her long slender legs out in front of her, modestly crossing them at the ankles.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and opened the book back up. She re-read a part of a paragraph and it was the same awkward and crude description as it was the first time. God damn and this was _just_  the beginning of the novel. Well, she had taken it, she was committed now; Elizabeth _had_  to read it. It was just a story after all, what possible harm could a simple little story really do? And so the naïve young woman read on using the open book itself as shield when necessary if Elizabeth felt like she was blushing far too much. Normally, when she read Elizabeth fidgeted a lot, constantly changing position, this was not the case in reading The Story of O. She didn’t budge a single muscle as she turned paged after page. Elizabeth didn’t even rouse herself from her spot until it was getting dark and even then if the sun had remained in the sky she would have remained immobilized reading beneath the tree. She felt many things as she read, shock was first followed quickly by disgust. But, from time to time Elizabeth would read a passage that made her heart pump just a little faster, and instead of her ears burning it would be the space between her legs. Just as if she’d woken up from one of her masturbation dreams. But, she had to get up and get cleaned off and start dinner. Elizabeth rose and walked back inside the house in a daze. She thought Booker might have said something to her in passing, but she didn’t hear. And Elizabeth could care less. It was like she had gone into this strange world where nothing and everything made sense. Elizabeth mechanically climbed up the stairs and carefully set the book in her closet next to the clothes she would put on. She took her shower, thinking about what she had read so far and she was honestly speechless. But, when she cleaned herself off under the warm spray of water touching her breasts and her groin gave her pause for a split second. Elizabeth dressed and stuck the book beneath her arm as she went down stairs trying to get her mind on the task of cooking and not graphic descriptions of violent sex.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker kept swimming for quite a long time, dirt washed off of his body and energy being used up. By the time he had had enough of swimming he headed back to the edge of the lake, seeing Elizabeth up ahead, reading one of her books. Without giving it any thought Booker picked up their empty plates and brought them inside. He quickly did the dishes, putting the plates back in place before he went upstairs for a shower. He took his time getting off, long build-up, hard orgasm as he thought about the young woman he'd fucked yesterday. Up against the wall in an alley, quick and rough, easily handling her light frame, her arms wrapped around his neck for support. Yeah, that had been nice. Hearing her heavy breathing so close to her ear, filling him with nothing but her longing voice, an occasional groan or gasp of pleasure. He looked at the cum trickling down his hand before he continued cleaning himself off.

He got dressed in a dark pair of pants and the shirt he'd worn in Columbia, pinstriped with white cuffs and a white collar. It had been partially damaged during the countless battles, torn at some places and penetrated by a bullet at one point, but he managed to fix it up and get the blood out. It was a shame to throw it away, really. And with that he head downstairs, opening up the fridge to see what he'd cook for them. Elizabeth was still outside reading, so he figured he'd let her read about bees and butterflies or whatever other book she had now. He took some minced meat from the fridge, and put it in a large bowl, using his strong hands to get it all a little more tender. He cracked some eggs which seemed ridiculously tiny in his hands, and let the contents of it slide in the bowl. After that, he took some bread and turned it into crumbles, clawing and ripping at it. He went away to get a tiny onion, chopped it up and added it to the mix. He felt kind of proud of himself for making something that by his standards was complicated. He wondered if Elizabeth would like it. But wait, what did Elizabeth do? Add spices, right? Hm... He blankly stared at the little spice rack they had in their kitchen. He picked a random bottle, opening it up and sniffing at it. Hm, it smelled alright...What was it? Chili, according to the little label on it. Huh. Might as well. He added some of it in the bowl and then, he started mixing it all up, making several balls of it and leaving them in the bowl for the time being. He briefly washed his hands, and that was when Elizabeth strolled back in. "Inside so soon?" He asked dryly, teasing for her for being so dedicated to whatever book she read, having been outside reading it practically all day considering it was getting dark already.

Elizabeth gave no response as she headed upstairs, and Booker shrugged it off, continuing cooking. By the time Elizabeth was downstairs a pan of water he just started to boil, And Booker put the peeled potatoes in it. Elizabeth walked over to him, ready to help him cook, even though she somehow seemed a little out of it. She looked tired, though maybe sleepy was a better word. Dazed. Was she getting ill? "No, I got it." Booker halted her as she was about to open a drawer. "It's almost done anyway." As the potatoes boiled and the spiced large meatballs sizzled in the frying pan Booker started to wash some spinach leaves, afterwards cooking them in a pan with a little bit of boiling water, the vegetable being prepared rather quickly. Booker set the table, Elizabeth sitting at her end with her little book. "Anything interesting stuff in there?" Booker asked once the meal was finished, always willing to talk about what she was reading during dinner. He put the pans on the table, putting some salt over the potatoes along with some other spices that he thought would go with it. He went to sit down on his chair, awaiting her answer.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker had dinner taken care of and told her not to worry about doing a thing. To which Elizabeth was extremely grateful. She slowly sat down at the table already flipping over to the next page. Her head slightly tipped forward, her hair falling to the sides of her face like a veil. Elizabeth’s hair had grown in some length since she had cut it in Columbia, instead of just hitting her chin, her fine brown hair came down to the middle of her neck and the natural wave she had was returning the longer it got. She didn’t realize it but when Booker started placing the pans of food on the table Elizabeth had raised her book in front of her face. When Booker asked if she was reading anything interesting, Elizabeth cringed. The sound of his voice startled her because in her mind’s eye all she could see were visualizations and variations on the perversions she was reading. A woman’s hands tied behind her back, the crack of a whip, and long bloody lash marks across a shapely backside. Blind folded and forced to go down on her hands and knees while strange men raped her.

It _was_  rape in Elizabeth’s mind, telling someone that “if you love me, you will do this” was coercion not consent. Before the naïve girl didn’t really have _clear_  mental images of how a man and a woman would couple, Elizabeth had them now and more and more variations were just springing to her mind without any prompting from her novel. When Booker asked her about her book Elizabeth was just imagining a woman being mounted from behind and taken analy while another man forced her to suck him off at the same time. She blinked rapidly and pressed her lips together. Elizabeth peered from behind her book, “Interesting…you could call it that.” She mumbled closing the book shut and setting it down by her side handling it as if it could burn her hands. Elizabeth inhaled the delicious smells of dinner, she needed to _not_  think about this shit while she was having dinner. Oh good, meat balls. But, a mental image of a man’s scrotum and testicles sneaked up on her despite her best efforts to push the thought out of her mind. God damn it.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    DeWitt scooped up some food, placing it on his plate, glancing at her as she replied. It was kind of a void answer. She didn't take the opportunity to elaborate on what she was reading like she usually would. She really was getting ill, wasn't she? Her face was red, and she blinked rapidly... Did she have a fever? Not pressing her to tell anything about the book he started his meal. Mnh! Damn, that was actually quite good. Proud of himself for accomplishing something good with spices he eagerly ate on, filling his empty stomach. He took a sip of his wine every so often. Elizabeth was being particularly quiet, very slowly cutting up her meatballs. Was she even hungry? Booker chewed a bit slower as he observed her. "You feelin' alright?" He asked her, taking another bite of his meal.

 **Elizabeth::**   Startled again by the sound of Booker’s voice, Elizabeth raised her eyes from her plate. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied quietly taking a bite of food. She smiled approvingly at him for a moment as she tasted the meat, “good job with dinner by the way.” Elizabeth complimented him, before her thoughts became troubled again. The young woman looked… _perplexed_  her elegant eyebrows were furrowed together like she was trying _really_  hard to understand something, Elizabeth’s full sensual mouth was turned down into a moody scowl and her blue eyes had a far off look to them like she didn’t even see the plate in front of her as she steadily kept eating.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker kept looking at her, growing concerned at this point. She seemed very reclusive, something he wasn't as used to. She had that look in her eyes that he had seen when she was cutting herself up. Distant. He didn't like it, so he decided to try keep up conversation. Engage her. She gave him a smile, but it wasn't very genuine, more a smile to make him stop worrying along with a compliment on the food. The motions she made were very mechanic, like she relied on muscle memory only. "So what is the book about?" He tried, getting her to talk to pull her out of the indifference.

 **Elizabeth::**  God damn it, DeWitt. Elizabeth thought to herself. She took a drink of red wine from her glass contemplating how in the world she was going to answer that question. Let’s bond over sexual slavery. I don’t _fucking_  think so. She was a tumultuous tempest of sorted emotions right now and she didn’t trust what she would say. Elizabeth was even more acutely aware of her sexual inexperience now more than ever, and she resented the possibility of coming across as some dumb naïve little girl. She was a grown woman, who just happened to be _extremely_  sheltered her entire life. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and carefully set her glass down and sighed. “Ya know…maybe we can talk about it _after_  I’ve finished reading it.” She offered, secretly congratulating herself for being able to look him in the eye without blushing in embarrassment. “But, I’m not going to lie. I'm not very focused, so I am probably going to play pretty shitty tonight. Just to warn you,” Elizabeth added, knowing full well that she did not have the concentration to play well when they got out the cards for their regular poker game.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Huh, she'd talk to him about it once she finished it? Well, that was fine by him, he was glad he'd been able to get at least some reaction out of her. "Sure." He complied, continuing his meal, letting her off the hook. He looked up at her, his mouth stuffed, swallowing before he replied to her. "We don't _have_  to play, y'know." He began. "Ain't no fun to take down an easy opponent." He offered in turn. She looked like she needed some rest in his eyes, maybe they should skip it for a change, she really didn't look well. On the other hand, playing a card-game would be more engaging, though if she couldn't focus that might not work either. She seemed off. "Get some rest, you look exhausted." He stated bluntly, scraping the last bits of food from his plate.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth cracked another egg on the side of her skillet and brought her spatula down viciously breaking the yolks. Hard eggs. Hard sex. God dammit. And with that thought she brought the bottle of white wine to her lips and took a swig of it. It was barely light out and she had already started drinking. No time like the present. Elizabeth stayed up all night reading the Story of O, she had finished it early enough that she _could_  have, _should_  have gone to bed. But, she didn’t. Elizabeth stayed up and read it over again from cover to cover. She had been trying to sort of the chaotic jumble of thoughts and conflicting feelings inside herself ever since. The young woman felt completely disoriented, but she didn’t appear that way. Despite having no sleep Elizabeth looked more alert than ever, her movements smooth, and her countenance was bright. But, there was finesse to her actions now, a sharp completeness. Like a conductor decisively silencing an orchestra when they had reached the end of a symphony. Elizabeth had reached that end, her protective little shell of ignorance had been soundly shattered. At least in thought.

She ate her breakfast in silence, but the thoughts screamed in her head. And she had to talk about this shit. Not sober she isn’t, Elizabeth mused dryly as she finished offed an entire bottle of wine. Liquid courage. Licking her lips she rose and walked in the kitchen and peeled a banana. Elizabeth opened the refrigerator looking for another bottle, putting the ironically phallic object in her mouth. She didn’t bite it off right away, the fruit just slid into her mouth. Huh, that didn’t seem so bad, wonder how far you could go without choking? Such were Elizabeth’s thoughts. Her right hand reached for the last bottle of white and Elizabeth felt all the fine delicate hairs on her body stand on end. It wasn’t because of the cold refrigerator either. Booker wished her a good morning, and Elizabeth bit into the ripe banana, chewed and swallowed it before she moved out of the safety of the refrigerator. With wine bottle in one hand and half a banana in the other, she closed the door with a boney elbow. Booker was already helping himself to the eggs she made, lazily scooping them off the skillet and onto his plate. Elizabeth took in the sight of him, his tall frame with lean muscle, warm golden skin kissed by the summer sun, his locks of unruly but somehow perfect hair with bits of gray, a handsome face that was currently set in indifference, tension in his broad shoulders.

Didn’t sleep well? Do you miss me in your bed? And for the first time, Elizabeth’s association with him changed, she saw Booker as a _man_  and not simply a male; a subtle difference, but a very important one. Her eyes briefly fell on the sofa and she gazed at the evil little book that had fucked her up. It looked so banal and innocent on the soft cushions. Yep, definitely not drunk enough to deal with this shit. Elizabeth stuffed the last half of the banana in her mouth discarding the peel and walked out the back door into the heat with a bottle of wine as her only company.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Booker trudged downstairs after yet another restless night. He had dark walls underneath his eyes, his green eyes half-closed, making it look like he was still partially sleeping. At this point he could barely remember that he used to fall asleep so goddamn easy. "Good morning." He said groggily once he got sight of Elizabeth in the kitchen, but got no reply from the girl with bottle and banana in hand. She didn't reply to him, and as Booker looked at the banana stuffed rather deep in her mouth he made a vague association of sticking his cock in someone's mouth. That little thought was abruptly ended when Elizabeth closed her mouth, biting off the fruit. He shot a glance her way, only to see she was anything but sleepy like he was. Hm, he figured the rest must've done her well, she looked different from yesterday. Sharper. Conscious. Booker grabbed a plate, scooping the eggs on it like he had all time in the world. Booker looked at her back as she walked out with a bottle of wine. Drinking early, huh... That seemed more like something for him than for her. In his half-sleep like state he shrugged it off, he just wanted some food.

He sat down at the table, eating his bread with eggs, with a little pinch of salts. The act of eating seemed to wake him up, made him ready to get to work. He walked upstairs to get changed into his shorts, afterwards continuing to work in the garden. He was satisfied with how much he'd done in regards to tending to the plants. With his body tired, he decided it was enough for today. He trudged back inside, splashing some water in his face at the sink to cool down. He glanced outside, seeing Elizabeth sit there, tipping back the bottle. Hm...His eyes fell on the little book on the couch. Peculiar little thing. What kind of content could be inside that caused Elizabeth to not want to talk about it? In all their months here that had never happened before. DeWitt walked over to the sofa, picking up the little book uninterestedly. He'd never been much of a reader himself, but he'd give it a shot. With a look of indifference plastered on his face as usual he opened up the little book. The only thing that was changed in his expression as he read the first paragraph was the curve of his eyebrows. Raised at first, frowning later on.

Holy shit, was this the kind of stuff she'd been reading? No wonder she didn't want to talk about it during dinner. He glanced outside, suddenly understanding the need for a whole bottle. Hm... Booker sat himself down on the couch, and kept reading. Why the hell would she read this? This was some heavy stuff. Booker lost track of time, reading quite a bit of the book, but he was unable to finish it before he heard Elizabeth's footsteps. Booker noticed it had grown darker, and finished up the last paragraph. He closed the book once Elizabeth came inside, bottle empty. Too bad, he would've wanted some of it too at this point. He closed the little book, putting it aside, trudging over to a cabinet where he kept some of his stronger liquor. He needed a drink for reading all that, despite the repulsive passages his cock was partially engorged. "Want one too?" He asked as he took out a little glass, ready to take another one. 

 **Elizabeth::**   By the time Elizabeth walked back into the house she was well on her way to being very drunk. The alcohol helped. She wasn’t going to be bluffing per se, but she needed to adopt a persona if she was going to be able to talk about the things she read without looking like a blushing virgin. Elizabeth did know what she was, but she didn’t care and that was the _whole_  point of drinking. The young woman had an attitude, but it was a decidedly good thing, she had finally sorted out all her thoughts. Elizabeth had opinions, she saw through the bull shit, and read between the lines. She knew what she was _willing_  to talk about, and what things she would omit. The secret things, the puzzle pieces that was all falling into place.

Sex dreams, the taste of Booker’s stubble, the way his dexterous hands shuffled cards, and the way they played in the water together while they swam. Oh, Booker DeWitt, I am afraid I want to do bad things with you. Elizabeth mused. Unlike her father, she didn’t deny the sexual associations her mind had made of him once she saw him as a _man_. Elizabeth supposed that she _shouldn’t_  think of Booker in that way, but she saw the world through the clarity of a haze of alcohol and did not give a single fuck. She made her own rules, and it wasn’t like Booker reciprocated an attraction. Thoughts were just thoughts. And there was also the chance that her feelings were just a temporary crush that she would get over. My heart belongs to daddy, she thought with a little giggle. There wasn’t a single sexual act mentioned in that book that the young woman felt offended or repulsed by. When she visualized them she thought it _curious_.

Maybe Elizabeth would have been offended if she had read the book back when she was still in her tower, before she learned that life was cruel, ugly, and bloody. Elizabeth strolled back into the house, her cheeks and chest flushed a little pink from sun and wine. Her blue eyes glittered with an inquisitive alertness. The collar of her light green shirt was open and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and the young woman had a body awareness that made her magically indifferent. Normally, her language and facial expressions went through a myriad of emotions making her easily readable. Elizabeth didn’t want to care, she didn’t want to look ignorant, she didn’t want to giggle and blush. She wanted to be self-assured and as unpredictable as a sphinx. Alcohol helped get herself into that frame of mind. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Smarty Man.

Out of the corner of Elizabeth’s eye she saw Booker shut the wicked little book with such naughty words and shuffled over to his liquor cabinet. He offered her a drink, and to that Elizabeth graciously nodded her head, “sure.” Booker extended a small glass of whiskey towards her and their fingers slightly brushed as he passed it off. There, you see. You don’t feel a thing at all. “It’s like watching a train wreck right,” Elizabeth stated nodding her head over to where The Story of O sat on the couch. “You know I read that book _twice_. I stayed up all night making a valiant effort to wrap my brain around what the hell the author was thinking, and I _still_  can’t decide if the story is _clever_   or just _pathetic_ ,” Elizabeth mused, her voice peppered with sarcasm annunciating the last word. She downed her shot without thinking, trying not to taste the hard liquid as it burned all the way down her throat. Damn, that was strong shit. It started a warm fire low in her tummy. Elizabeth was an impertinent drunk, normally inebriated people reveal more about themselves under the influence of alcohol becoming more and more transparent. Not so with Elizabeth, alcohol was like an opaque filter, a infuriatingly beautiful and enigmatic mask.

 **Booker DeWitt::**    Twice, huh...Apparently she hadn't slept at all, which surprised him given her sharp state of mind earlier. Now, she seemed a little more numb, which Booker attribute to the bottle of wine she had downed all by herself. They downed their shots simultaneously. "I haven't finished it yet." Booker told her, putting the empty glass down and leaning against the cabinet, hands in his pockets. He wasn't as fast of a reader as she was, which wasn't much of a surprise considering she read more often than he did. "I'm assuming the flow of the book remains more of the same?" He asked, green eyes fixed upon her.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth sighed. “Pretty much. The conclusion of the book has the main character shown off at a party stark naked with the exception of wearing an owl mask and is treated solely as an object. No more remarkable then admiring a party decoration. Although, apparently there is an alternative ending floating around somewhere that has the main character committing suicide because she was abandoned by the master that had her pierced and branded.” Booker raised his eyebrows at her brief summary of the story. “Yeah, messed up shit, right? But, the whole story was pretty much fucked straight from the beginning. Because nothing says ‘I love you’ like coerced prostitution and genital mutilation,” she added dryly, but there was a little flash of anger in Elizabeth’s deep blue eyes. She walked over to the kitchen table and took a seat. “Needless to say, there were quite a few things about that particular tale that bothered me.” The young woman crossed her legs at the ankle, one arm resting against the table as she looked up at Booker who leaned against the kitchen counter.

 **Booker DeWitt:** :    Booker lightly raised his eyebrows at her synopsis of the ending. Yeah, definitely more of the same, then. He scoffed lightly at the mention of the mutilation. Yeah, out of all the parts that Booker had read so far that had been the one that hit closest to home. The branding, the marking. Something he had done to himself, the precisely made brand with cigarettes on his right hand still clearly visible. It would never fade. It gave him no peace of mind to hurt himself, but he hadn't wanted to forget what he had done. What mistake he had made by selling Anna. He confronted himself with his own choices. Remind himself what he kept going for. A chance to see Anna again, one day, perhaps. Branding himself was a motivation to keep clawing through his shitty life, as well as a reminder that he was one big fuck-up that deserved no redemption. And in the book, O had been branded simply because her master had desired her to.

A possessive wish. A _disgusting_  wish. Booker loathed the objectification, marking her to show she belonged to him. It repulsed him. Booker had been a witness to a lot of cruel inhumane shit he wouldn't mention for the rest of his life. He knew what people were like if driven to the edge, when they lost themselves in primal hate, love and greed. People pulled a lot of shit out of hate, but also out of love, he had seen both. But this, what was described in the book, that wasn't love. Her master claimed to do it out of love. Be branded, if you love me. That wasn't love. That was manipulative emotional bullshit, and it made Booker angry to read her get branded just because her master said so. She didn't belong to him. _No one_  belonged to anyone as such. I love you, die for me, as Elizabeth had mentioned would happen in an alternative ending. You didn't do that to someone you loved. It made Booker furious. Funny that a story could get to him like that. He poured himself another shot, calming his nerves, feeling the amber liquid burn in his throat. "What _didn't_  bother you?" Booker stated dryly, holding the empty glass in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get really interesting. Thanks for reading!!! See everyone next time. :)  
> **Story of O is an erotic novel published in 1954 by French author Anne Desclos under the pen name Pauline Réage.**


	10. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With alcohol flowing and emotions running high tensions escalate between Booker and Elizabeth into a full blown argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning!!! Verbal & Emotional Abuse

**Elizabeth::**     Elizabeth considered for a moment how to answer Booker’s question. Fuck it. I may be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I have to talk like one God dammit. “Well, for starters it doesn’t bother me that this literature will at some point exist in the future. I’m not bothered that I read it. And the fact that a _woman_ wrote this with subjective hindsight makes perfect sense. The acts of sex themselves weren’t troublesome either,” she said nonchalantly with a careless shrug. “People are such funny creatures, we think ourselves so clever; that because our social structure and our lives are more complex than other warm blooded mammals that life somehow isn’t messy for us. We cling to false truths on notions of control, when to _live_  is to accept what you cannot control. If you feel embarrassment or a sense of shame, you should always question it because people are not born with shame. Shame is something that is a learned behavior and not a natural state of being. If some person out there wants someone to tie them down and whip them and that person gives another a sober, non-manipulated, and consenting enthusiastic “yes” then that’s their prerogative. And I don’t feel its right to judge someone for it. Everyone is an individual and everyone wants different things, but yet we insist on hiding behind a false sense of dignity because it’s the pretense of tradition to not acknowledge what is a natural biological drive,” the young woman continued thoughtfully. “Even what’s considered “normal” chances are that somewhere down the line there is some asshole with a hidden agenda that decided his opinion should be law. The Bible says that wives are to submit to their husbands in all matters, and this author has taken the concept of female submission to an extreme end, and that’s the cleverness of it. It makes you question the accepted wisdom of gender roles.” Elizabeth flashed an ironic smile at Booker. “The rather sad, pathetic elements of the story is how the main character is completely dependent on others to accept a part of herself. She hides behind the elaborate concept of being a slave to a Master because objects don’t have to explain themselves, because somewhere down the line she still buys into the bullshit that she should be ashamed of herself. She’s still looking for justification for what she wants to do or how she wants to be treated, granted there is a lot of coercion happening between the characters and less consent, but if she wanted out of those sorts of relationships there was nothing stopping her from just packing up and leaving. And I think it’s truly sad that the character has to practically fall into unsafe and unhealthy relationships just to acknowledge a part of herself that she should have _already_  accepted.” Elizabeth concluded, her bright blue eyes filled with the depth of her ability to read between the lines and go beyond the initial shock of the novel.

 **Booker DeWitt::** Evidently, it didn't seem like Elizabeth was very bothered by the sexual acts in the book itself. Booker wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not. On one hand, she was the naive girl who'd never had sex with anyone, not that he knew about at least, and on the other she seemed to masturbate quite frequently. Maybe it was a subject that was far from home for her, maybe she saw it differently than he did because of that. What was most off putting for Booker was the mutilation that went with it. Booker knew what physical trauma felt like, hell, the numerous scars on his body proved that. It felt unnatural for him to look for pain, let alone for the sake of somehow finding pleasure in it. Scratching and biting during sex was fine by him, he liked that, but to purposefully _hurt_  someone was a different story. That went right past him. Booker hurt many _many_  people. He did what he had to do to survive. To perform his job. If he hadn't had made the choices he had he would've been long dead by now, that was sure. He knew what it was like to hurt people, hell, at one dark point in his life he might have taken _joy_  in it. Interrogating suspects, punching them until their flesh started to swell. Slamming their head into the table cold. Play psychological games with them until they were on the verge of an emotional breakdown. They were victim of Booker's incompetence to deal with his own problems. He lashed out at them, as if having control over their fate somehow made him have control of his own life. Needless to say, it didn't work like that. Booker went further and further, going down a spiral of violence. At one point he'd lost himself. He had gone too far, and he had been _fired_  by the goddamn Pinkertons. Even for the violent bunch that they were Booker had gone too far. Thing is, he did that to people he despised. People he saw as his enemy. He could never do that to someone he loved. He had mellowed over the years. He didn't hurt for pleasure. He hurt to survive. To eliminate threats. He had acknowledged his mistakes at the Pinkertons, yet another regret in his life for being the cruel bastard he was back then. He liked to think he had changed, but had he really? He didn't know...All he knew was that he had no intention of going back to the battlefield. He had seen enough of that for the rest of his life, trauma running deep. His endeavors in Columbia hadn't made it much better. Especially Slate _forcing_  him to kill while Booker had absolutely no problem with Slate's men was unbelievably cruel.

He was done with all that. He just wanted to live out the rest of his life quietly, have sex, swim, eat some good food, smoke, drink...Enjoy things. Hurting people he had no problem with wasn't part of things he personally enjoyed. He kept listening to Elizabeth as she kept talking about social structures, about pretending versus making clear what you wanted. For a girl locked up in a tower all her life until recently she sure had some outspoken ideas. Booker walked over to his chair, bottle in hand. He leaned back in the comfortable wooden structure, raising his legs onto the table, crossed at the ankles, his feet not touching the tabletop, half dangling over the edge. "I hate the objectification in that book." Booker stated, not as familiar with all the subtext as Elizabeth was, but he got the gist of it. He poured himself another glass. "A woman ain't a playtoy, let alone you're allowed to mutilate her. It's fuckin' disgusting." He chugged down the small glass, frown at his face. "There's a difference between cherishing someone's body and objectifying it. " He started, lazily holding the glass up. "Admiring it is fine, appreciate how they're shaped, how they move with you, how they moan, you know?" Of course she didn't know, he had to remind himself who he was talking to. Whatever, she wasn't a kid, she'd read this book without being phased by the sex scenes, she could handle it. "Objectifying is a whole different matter. Someone you love ain't a possession. It ain't an object incapable of feeling, they're not _made_  for you to do with as you please. They don't belong to you. They _never_  do. They're not a possession. No fuckin' _item_   you can _violate._ " Booker practically growled, worked up over the subject, having seen what despicable things happened in war. He poured himself another glass.

 **Elizabeth::**  The girl turned towards Booker listening to him talk. She gave him a gracious nod of her head. “Well, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to possess or cherish someone’s body. But, what I do understand is desire, wanting something. I wanted my freedom, and if I had conformed to the mold that was made for me I wouldn’t be here and in a few years I’d crush the world beneath my heel. I questioned and rejected the way I was socialized.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “People are animals, no matter what they deny. Strip away the noble goals that your mind tells you it should think and people _are_  possessive, its instinct. I agree completely with what you say, but that _doesn’t_  change anything. Because you’re talking about emotion. Emotions are not logical. Free will is a bitch, and you can walk the high road when all your chips are in order, but when they aren’t…you can’t stop feelings of anger, disappointment, jealousy. Possession isn’t abnormal it’s a matter of survival. The wolf that doesn’t defend its place at a carcasses doesn’t get to eat. And yeah, we would _like_  to operate in the distinction between a person and an object and some of us are better at it than others. But, you don’t just brush aside millennia of instinctual biological evolution. The point is, that it’s simply not a black and white issue. It’s more complicated than that.” Elizabeth concluded. “Just because _you_  can look at a person and not objectify them doesn’t mean that the person next to you is so inclined…People are going to think what they are going to think and want what they want and I don’t think that’s abnormal. What _is_  abnormal is crossing physical boundaries when they are not wanted. Purposefully doing something that causes harm, and what is harmful? Trying to get someone to be what you want them to be, think what you want them to think, feel what you want them to feel.” She spoke sharply, her own life held vividly in her mind. “And you’re a white male. You may not be a hateful, self-righteous bastard but you are privileged as fuck. You don’t feel the albatross of gender roles as much as a woman will. In society women are allowed their tears because that’s an acceptable form of stress relief, but sex is not. The reverse is true for men. Both urges are as natural as breathing, what’s wrong is segregating them and tailoring them to one gender or the other. So, maybe the point of the story is how the natural flow of things has become so convoluted that no one can tell the difference between cherishing someone as you say or objectifying them.  O let’s some pretty messed up shit happen to her, but she’s also rewarded with pleasure. So, maybe it’s just an uncomfortable wake-up call that perhaps some women think that they should be treated as objects to be used in order to accept the sexual part of themselves.” The young woman shrugged. “Everyone has boundaries, but society tends to tell us where those boundaries should be. And maybe this is a really good example when falling in line in to what’s socially acceptable back fires.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker's shoulders shook lightly, his mouth curled up in a wry smile. He felt Elizabeth's eyes on him, and he actually let out a low chuckle, which escalated to a pleasant laughing. His laughter faded away as he shook his head lightly. "It's nothing. Inside joke." Was his limited explanation with a small swipe of his hand in the air. Don't mention it. It was somehow extremely funny to him that Elizabeth had actually called him _white_. He had been struggling his whole youth with the fact that he wasn't entirely white. His mother was native, his father white. Hell, even his father's name literally meant 'The White' in Dutch, since his ancestors came from The Netherlands. Booker, the bastard kid. The filthy good for nothing Injun. The snotty disobedient kid. He'd fought so hard to search for his father's approval as he grew up, without luck. Everyone Booker knew, knew him as the injun boy, and they loathed him for his mixed blood. And eventually, so did his father, taking out the frustration of the consequences from his own decision on his child. Long story short, Booker had grown up trying to prove he was white. He fought to be accepted. He wanted to be the white boy his father wished for him to be. He had gone as far as to kill other people merely for the sake of proving himself as a white man, vividly remembering Wounded Knee. He didn't like what he chose, but he'd have to live with his choices. But after all that, after all those insane years of denial and persuasion he had been regarded as white at last. He had finally received the ridiculous white privilege that Elizabeth spoke of. And here he was. Sitting with his daughter, who honestly didn't doubt for a split second that he was white. Of course, she didn't know. It was rather hard to tell he had injun blood, he took more after his father than after his mother, but still. There was something sour about it. He had his own _daughter_  fooled. Right, back to subject, this wasn't about his skin tone. "Right, so society molds you into being what you _aren't_  originally." Booker began, filling himself another glass. He might get a bit tipsy at this rate.  "People shame you for things you can't or don't desire to change, making you feel guilt when you cross boundaries. " He offered Elizabeth a refill before taking a small sip of his own glass. "Of course, going too far with setting boundaries works terribly confining, but at the same time, people _should_  have limits. You need them, or you'll spiral down a path of no return." He was thinking out loud, taking another sip, enjoying the burning feeling in his throat. "If we didn't have boundaries, if we didn't have guilt or remorse everyone would go around raping and murdering whoever we want 'cause of our damn greed, or at least a fair share of us would. Everything would be a resource to fill _your_  needs, not taking anyone else into account." He stated, shaking his head lightly. "We _need_  boundaries, lest we become the worst versions of ourselves. We need shame to stop us." He looked at his feet, curling his toes lightly. "O's master doesn't feel shame so he mutilates her. The men fucking O don't feel shame so they rape her. That one kid doesn't feel shame so she gets off watching her sister have sex. It's all fuckin' wrong yet they do it. They have a choice not to, they're not starving, they don't need to defend the carcass as you put it, but take their shame away and they'll give in." Booker downed the rest of the glass.

 **Elizabeth::**   “Well, boundaries can prevent us from spiraling down into the abyss. There has to be some order to it all.” Elizabeth conceded taking her glass and spinning it around in her hand staring at the amber liquid. “Mutilation and rape are wrong, but I would _hardly_  put masturbation in the same category as those. Masturbation isn’t abnormal.” She commented before taking her shot. Booker shot her a look at her last words, eyebrows going up demanding some sort of explanation for her opinion.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  He raised her eyebrows at her statement. Did she not see what was wrong with it, or what? "That's not my point." He continued, making some gesture with his hand to put emphasis on his sentence. "Masturbation's perfectly fine to do, it's not abnormal, but then again, rape and murder aren't abnormal either depending on how you look at it." He shrugged lightly. "It's the fact that she's watching her own _sister_  to get off that puts it in the category. Her own _family_ , for god's sake."

 **Elizabeth::**  Then it was _her_  turn to raise her eyebrows. Elizabeth gave Booker an amused look. “Hmmm…you make it sound like sexual desire is such a well _behaved_  and _logical_ impulse.” She sighed, taking a moment to sort out her thoughts before she spoke again. “Look, Booker sexual attraction isn’t some switch that you can consciously turn on and off, your _instincts_  decide whether you want someone or not faster than I can snap my fingers together. Sexual attraction doesn’t operate in the realm of polite logic; it’s like trying to argue with gravity. What goes up must come back down.” The young woman’s eyes glimmered. She could scarcely believe that a virgin like herself would have to explain to an aggressive man like Booker DeWitt how instinctual impulses worked. “Take a look at the bigger picture. Back in the day when people operated more simplistically as hunter gatherers blood-related individuals had no privacy what so ever. Everything was done out in the open, it’s kind of hard to keep secrets when there are no doors, no bedrooms, no bathrooms. You think those people neglected their sex drive simply because they were around family members?” Elizabeth arched her eyebrows incredulously. “If that was the case, the human population would have just died off.  Sexual attraction isn’t some fucking moral compass, and it does not give a shit about circumstance. There is nothing wrong with desiring something that you find beautiful, its _natural_.” She crossed her arms. “In order to understand why certain things are acceptable and some are not you should take a long hard look at history. So, allow me to enlighten you on how our social boundaries _really_  works.” Elizabeth uncrossed her arms and made a motion with her fingers to outline an invisible triangle. “Society is a pyramid. You have those individuals all the way up at the top that have nearly all of the resources, and then you have the rest of us, who have practically nothing. So, for the _majority_  of the population it is more advantageous for different families, tribes, and the like to join up, pool their resources, and increases their odds of survival. And those alliances are made through marriages. On the other side of the spectrum you have the people that don’t need any additional resources and they certainly are not going to share those resources with others, unless it somehow is to their advantage and it ultimately gains them more resources. So, those people didn’t go outside of their families when it came to marriages. A good example of this is the Egyptian pharaohs. It was standard to marry brother to sister and so on, because they weren’t mere mortals in _their_  eyes they were god-kings. And gods don’t breed or share their wealth with lesser men. My point is, that our views on what should or shouldn’t be acceptable when it comes to choosing sexual partners isn’t based on notions of right vs. wrong, it’s based on greed and survival. The standards of what has become social norm and our way of life is flexible and has evolved over the years as culture and the needs of a population changes. So, that Booker DeWitt, is why I don’t think the young girl in the story of O getting off to the sight of her sister having sex is abnormal. “ Elizabeth finished with a slight sarcastic lit to her voice.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  Booker's face grew sterner when she treated him like some ignorant kid, she was pushing him. Who was _she_  to tell   _him_  about sexual attraction? What the fuck did _she_  know? She was being goddamn condescending like only _she_  could be at times, and he hated that about her. Sheltered girl explaining to a man who survived by instinct what instinct was. Of course he knew sexual attraction wasn't an off and on switch. You either got the vibe of wanting to take someone or not, it was as simple as that. You like 'em or you don't. She changed the subject, and Booker took another shot. She gave him a lesson in history, talking about cavemen, forced marriage and Egyptians, talking about social structures. "Like you say, norms evolve. We ain't gods breeding with gods, we ain't cavemen fucking relatives for offspring, we don't get sold out for the sake of a fat wallet. They needed to protect and survive, which they managed by fucking family. It's not like that anymore, for the most part." He moved his legs a bit, downing yet another shot, losing his own boundaries. But, he had to have a drink to be able to talk about all this, seemingly getting a tad more talkative when he drank. "So you're just okay with that? You think it's not _wrong_  for the kid to do that?" He inquired, body warm from alcohol. "So, what? Let's say Comstock jerked off while you do whatever it is in your tower, you really wouldn't mind? It wouldn't be _abnormal, right?_ "  He said with a bitter tone of voice.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth chuckled softly at Booker’s comment. “No. No, I _wouldn’t_  mind because I simply see it as a man enjoying himself while looking at naked woman. There isn’t anything strange about finding pleasure at the sight of something that is beautiful to you. In a way it’s sort of like a compliment.  He’s not hurting me, he isn’t mutilating me, he isn’t taunting me or gloating that he does it. “ She sighed again, “Continuing with this hypothetical situation, what could I possibly do to stop him? I can’t control what someone may or may not think about me. If I can’t change it why fret about it? And why be embarrassed over it? The only person I have control over is me and no one is _ever_  going to make me feel ashamed of who I am or what I look like.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Her reply made abundantly clear she had lived a sheltered life. A _compliment_. Really? It baffled him that she didn't seem to mind. It didn't make sense to him. "I can understand all that, if it wasn't for the fact that he's your _father._ " Booker treaded dangerous waters at this point, going far in his claims. And at the same time, this conversation got just a tad too personal for him. Talking about her father equaled talking about himself, in a way. He should back off. The alcohol clouded his mind a tad, he didn't want to say things he would regret, because at this rate he sure as hell was gonna. It unnerved him that Elizabeth unintentionally implied that she, hypothetically, would be okay with him jerking off at the thought of her. Booker thought it was sick.

 **Elizabeth::** The young woman sighed. _I’m attracted to you and sure as hell am not going to guilt trip myself over it_ , she thought to herself. Or maybe it was all the alcohol talking, either way she was not about to let Booker’s comment go. “It takes more than blood to be a father, Booker,” she said bluntly, but her voice wasn’t unkind. “He didn’t raise me, and he had absolutely no interaction with me when I was a small child growing up in that Tower. Comstock never saw me as a child or a daughter, he saw me as a means to an end to continue his own agenda.  I never saw him as a father figure, he was just some man that felt he was entitled to have me. _Specimens_  don’t get to have families.” The young woman stated sharply.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   "Good thing you're not a specimen anymore, then." Booker poured himself another shot, holding his glass up in the air as if toasting before bringing the glass to his lips, throwing his head back to pour the liquid in his throat. He was her family now. The only one she got. A father, though like Comstock, he hadn't actually raised her. A sorry excuse for a father, but a father nonetheless. A father that had sold his daughter. Shit, why did it _always_  come down to that in his mind? He simply couldn't cut himself any slack it seemed. They had a peculiar dynamic. He had gotten to know her as a girl, she'd grown more into an actual woman, and then turned out to be his daughter. It made their relationship unconventional. They were friends, he supposed, a bit distant but still very close. And at the same time, they were family, and Booker struggled with his role when it came to that. He tried to be a good dad, but at times it felt peculiar to take on the role of dad for a friend. It was confusing as hell, but he did his best. He got fed up with the glasses, and just took the whole bottle. "To family that doesn't fuck each other over." He toasted with a subtle slurred tone, bringing the bottle to his mouth, well on his way to becoming comfortably drunk.

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth stared at the man that made such flippant comments about “family” and assumed so God damn much about her when he flat out sold her as a child. Elizabeth felt her anger stirring. The young woman was already drunk before she had taken the shots of whiskey that Booker offered her and that further unraveled her inhibitions. Elizabeth loved Booker fiercely and forgave him for all he did, but when it came to concepts of directly labeling their rather morally gray relationship it made her irrationally angry with him. Labels did things to people, it boxed them in, trapped them, stunted their emotional growth. Fuck, look at what the label of specimen, lamb, and prophet did to her? Elizabeth didn’t really know what the hell she was, but she had rejected all of those labels with a certain wild desperation. Her small hand tightened on the glass and her delicate jaw set into a stubborn line as her teeth clenched together. The young woman skewered Booker with a dark look, it was one he was familiar with, head slightly tilted down, blue eyes burning bright with tumultuous emotion, her lovely mouth turned down into a sullen scowl. Little slivers of tears appeared about the room, flickering like colorless stars. Elizabeth propped both of her elbows on the table, linked her fingers together and rested her chin there; a very sweet and demure gesture that clashed with the severe expression on Elizabeth’s perfectly symmetrical face.  “Careful, Booker,” she began softly her voice almost musical in quality. “You’re treading on some _mighty_  thin ice here by presumptuously throwing those labels around me.” Elizabeth spoke quietly, almost gentle in her manner as the tears winked out of existence just as quickly as they appeared.

He just didn’t get it.

Suddenly she rose; her chair scrapping back against the hard wood floor. Elizabeth stood at her full height with excellent posture, the last few rays of sunlight coming in through the windows illuminated her petite frame and she looked every bit as ethereal as she did when they had destroyed the siphon and her full strength returned to her in an eerie white glow. But, this light was gold, orange, and red. It was warm and welcoming and it brought out hues of red and gold in her brown hair that waved around her oval face, setting off her remarkable eyes and rose petal soft lips. She wore a fitted gray skirt and a pale green blouse that she left unbuttoned at the collar so she could wear a strip of green fabric at her neck so her brooch rested faithfully in the niche of her throat.  The sleeves were rolled up past her elbows revealing slender arms and sensitive white skin. Elizabeth was a slender and delicately built woman, but she didn’t carry herself as a fragile thing.  She carried herself just as tall as Booker did, the young woman commanded his attention as she padded over to him in bare feet, gracefully maneuvering around his long legs that were propped up on the table. Elizabeth minded his personal space, but her right hand lightly fluffed Booker’s hair. She cared herself with all the haughtiness a man might. The back of her hand stroked the side of the man’s rough face, a cherishing gesture before her slender fingers gripped Booker’s chin _hard_. Elizabeth did so earnestly, protectively. Thinking of all the times Booker would have died without her help and that no one would ever blame her if she hated the man that gave her away. But, there was no hate in her. She felt nothing but an untamed tenderness for the conflicted man that tried to do his best. Booker sat, frozen in the intensity of the moment like a fly caught in a spider’s web hand still lightly holding his bottle of whiskey. Elizabeth saw the self-deprecation in Booker and her gut response was to just _dominate_ the man.  As if that could banish his self-hatred. She didn’t know how the hell the conversation became so personal but it did, and Elizabeth dealt with it. “I accept _all_  that is you. I _adore_  you. So, let’s just be thankful and leave it at that. But, don’t you fucking _dare_  put a label on it. Labels don’t mean anything! They aren’t emotions! They are nothing but empty words. So, don’t you dare,” Elizabeth hissed the words harshly and passionately, as she looked right though Booker and into his naked soul. There was a very complicated mix of tenderness and rage that stormed in her blue eyes. Raw and honest, that’s what Elizabeth was. She released his chin, the metal of her thimble left a slight impression on part of Booker’s face. She didn’t wait around for a response from him. Elizabeth did need one, and she didn’t _care_  what Booker thought about her. He had already done his damage to her as a child. Elizabeth turned on her heel and headed towards the kitchen to start dinner. Too much alcohol made the room spin, but she ignored it and pressed forward anyway thinking to herself, God damn I   _should_  have been born a man.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker lowered the bottle slowly as he became aware of the rising tension in the room. His gaze met hers; a dangerous look in her eyes, the small tilt of her head making her look fierce. What? Had he said something wrong? Her fingers intertwined, small hints of those incredible tears of hers lightly gnawing at their reality, ready to shred. He was almost surprised when she started to talk, feeling as if she could've stared him down until he realized what it was that he'd done. She told him that he shouldn't label her, or _them_  for that matter. What? Call her family? Was that what bothered her? He didn't understand. They _were_  family. Bound by blood. He might be a sorry excuse for a father. He wasn't _really_  her father. Not in the emotional sense, either way. He hadn't raised her, hadn't seen her take her first steps, hadn't heard her say her first word, hadn't see her grow into the beautiful woman she was today. Not at all. That chance was long gone. Making up for lost time was out of his reach. He couldn't be the father she had always wanted. It was too late for that. But push come to shove he _was_  her biological father. They were a family, that was a fact, and if anything he was gonna live up to that role. Better late than never, right? Why did that bother her? He fucking _sold_  her, this was the _least_  he could do to make up. He fucked up. He tried to fix it.

He didn't get it.

He glanced at her as she abruptly stood up, chair scraping against the floor. She instilled a sense of awe as she stood there, the light of the setting sun encircling her with warmth. She looked beautiful, powerful. Booker was vaguely reminded of the glass-in-lead depictions in Columbia at the sight of it. Booker rested the bottle in his lap as she padded over to him. She ran her slender warm hand briefly through his hair, ruffling it. He didn't understand why she did that. Sure, she gave him gentle touches more often, but he didn't understand why _now_ , when she seemed cross with him. It made him a little wary, but when her hand slid over the side of his face, hearing the soft scraping against his stubble, he settled down a bit, just enjoying the feeling of it. And so, Booker was surprised when he suddenly felt fingers harshly dig into his chin, instantly drawing his attention back to her, thimble cold against his skin. She was _mad_ , wasn't she? Was she angry that he _dared_  to call himself family? Was that it? That he gave them a label he didn't even _deserve_? That he wasn't _worth_ to be called a father? Booker got pulled out of his thoughts as Elizabeth spoke. Bottom of the line was, that she didn't want to be put under a label. ...Alright, he'd _try_. He was a bit confused as to how to deal with that. Was she _rejecting_  him as a father? Did she reject him as _family_? He didn't ask. Not right now, at least. He'd ask later to make sure, he didn't want to make her angrier, the small tears clear in mind. She let go of him, leaving him confused, but with instruction; no labels. Alright... He took another swig of the whiskey, drinking more on an empty stomach than he should. His body felt warmer than usual, pleasant tingling in his stomach. He glanced at Elizabeth's back, letting her words sink in. No labels. Labels didn't mean anything, according to her. But he   _had_  to have something. A label in this case stood equal to a _boundary_  that he needed. Bluntly stated, you don't fuck family. If he was meant to forget about the label of family, things would just get confusing for him. He couldn't just disregard a label like that. He needed to know where to draw the line. To him, she was family, whether she liked it or not. But, he made sure not to voice that around her, respecting her wish.

 **Elizabeth::** Elizabeth strolled into the kitchen and contemplated what she would fix for them. Nothing too complex, she wasn’t in the right state to accomplish a culinary feat. So, she would stick with something that was really hard to fuck up. The young woman grabbed some stalks of celery and a few potatoes, and three pork chops out of their refrigerator. She turned on the radio as was her habit while she cooked, her petite frame swaying softly every so often to the rhythm that filled the room. She fixed everything together in one large skillet frying it all with butter, salt, and a pinch of garlic. Elizabeth got out two plates and instead of bring the skillet over to the table as usual, she just portioned everything out herself forsaking the polite pretenses. Booker’s plate naturally had more because he ate more. She casually tossed a fork and a knife onto their plates, but before Elizabeth brought the food to the table she got them both two tall glasses of water first. That should help balance out the alcohol somewhat, keep any unexpected headaches at bay. She sat the water on the table first, then retrieved their plates and brought them over. Elizabeth smiled secretively at Booker as she set his plate in front of him, “there you go my _paramour_  that should set you on the straight and narrow.”  Extremely delighted to call Booker with inappropriate French terms of endearment that he had no idea what the meaning was. She should have thought of that sooner. Elizabeth took her place at the table, taking her utensils in hand and softly chuckled at her own little private joke.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   As Elizabeth cooked Booker kept drinking from his whiskey, tipsy at this point. His thoughts were a tad coherent and he sidetracked a lot in his mind. Booker didn't get up to help her, not really trusting himself to be a proper cook right now with a decent amount of alcohol in his system. Then again, Elizabeth didn't seem to be that much more sober. When she set the table Booker finally got his legs off of the table, scooting his chair closer to the table, ready to eat what she served him. Elizabeth's subtle joke was entirely lost on Booker who did not have the knowledge to decipher her little message, but he did retort. "Oh, so _you do_  get to give _me_  labels." Booker murmured dryly, with a faint sense of humor. And with that they started eating, finally getting some food in their alcohol filled stomachs. It tasted good, as usual. After a while of eating and neglecting his water and drinking more whiskey instead Booker finally opened his mouth to speak instead of eat. "So what you said earlier." He took another swig, having the guts to ask her questions that made him seem ignorant despite her reprimand on labels. "Does that mean you uh..." He was searching for the right words, which was bit tricker in his current state, but he managed. "...you don't want me as a dad?" He looked at his plate, taking another bite, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, but truth was; that thought hurt him. Of course, he would _understand_  if she didn't want him as a father given all the shit he pulled on her, but...Damn, that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt him. He knew he didn't _deserve_  being her dad, but that didn't mean he couldn't _hope_  for a normal father and daughter relationship. It was a smack in the face for him considering the thought of Elizabeth loathing him as a father. He wasn't worthy of that label.

 **Elizabeth::**  She neatly speared a potato on her fork, chewing it carefully while Booker wolfed down his food.  He neglected drinking the water she had brought him in favor of drinking his whiskey. And after a little while Elizabeth knew why. Booker needed a little liquid courage to ask the question that had apparently been on his mind for some time. He tried to play it cool, but Elizabeth saw that he was conflicted, vulnerable.  Hmm, are you asking me what I want you to be? She thought to herself. What _did_  she want him to be? Elizabeth felt only confusion inside herself at the question.  And that _damn_ book made her see Booker as a man with sexual needs just as it awakened her own sleeping sexuality. She didn’t know if she could handle something as intense as all that with Booker. But, she enjoyed it whenever he touched her, his rough hands on her soft skin. Elizabeth briefly remembered asking Booker to kill her if Songbird ever tried to take her back, wrapping his large hand around her throat.  The neck was a vulnerable spot not just because of the ability of ending someone’s life, but because it was an erogenous zone. Perhaps even way back then Elizabeth wanted his hands on her body. She could have just as easily made her point by putting a gun to her head. But no, Elizabeth wanted the intimacy of his touch. Booker was her father by biological happenstance and nothing more. But, she couldn’t just say it like _that_. That would be too cruel. “I want you to be whatever I need you to be,” was what the young woman said quietly, before her expression darkened. “Hmpf, if you want me to put my heart out on the table, fine. I’ll do just that…Can you parent an adult?” Elizabeth asked more rhetorically, her words biting sharp. “No, you can’t. In fact the very notion of it is absurd. And that is exactly what I am, an adult. If I was a little girl our relationship would be much more…cut and dry. But, that train left the station a _long_  time ago. I told you Anna was gone, Booker and I _meant_  it. _Children_  need parents not adults. The whole function of the family unit is to raise offspring that can someday leave the nest and make it on their own in the world. And, let’s face it my crash course into adulthood began the moment you fell through the roof of my library.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Do, you really think that we stay together because we are blood related? No, that fact is just an afterthought. We stay together because we have been through _hell_  together and survived. We’ve bonded over blood and death and enough emotional damage to last us countless life times. Of course our relationship is going to be different, but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean “bad” because by some miracle we’ve managed not to lose the best parts of ourselves through all the horrible shit that’s happened to us.” Elizabeth gulped, holding back the tears felt like swallowing shards of broken glass. “I don’t like using labels of “father” not because _you_  aren’t good enough, it’s because the _label_  isn’t good enough. Being family isn’t enough. A family is something you _outgrow_  and ultimately the relationships and bonds that you leave behind in order to find your niche in the world. You’re like my own shadow Booker, and I don’t mean that in a condescending way, I mean it in an emotionally fulfilling way. How do you leave your own shadow? So, when you throw around conventional family terms I feel like you’re telling me to grow up, when I’m already grown. And…” Elizabeth’s voice cracked just a little, her vision becoming blurry with tears. “It upsets me because I _love_  you and I feel like you’re telling me to move on and _l_ _eave_ …” some of the tears were running down her face now, but she wasn’t sobbing yet. In fact they looked like glittering drops of dew resting and falling from her long dark eyelashes. “So, do you _still_  want that fucking label?” Elizabeth managed to blurt out before covering her emotionally wrought face with her small hands.

 **Booker DeWitt::**     Booker quietly listened to her with the buzz of alcohol in his brain, softening the blow. Once she was done she seemed to be on the verge of crying. No. She _was_  crying, a few tears silently rolling down her cheeks. He stood up from his chair, hand at the table for support because his legs were a bit heavier than anticipated. He made his way over to her, and leaned over as she sat in her chair. His arms wrapped around her a bit awkwardly because of the height difference, but he managed. "I had no idea you saw it that way." Booker murmured earnestly. Like she said; Anna was gone. She had never been his kid, and never would be. She was _Elizabeth_. Yet, Booker seemed to hold on to the notion of Anna due to his guilt of selling her. He wanted to make things right between them. Make up for him fucking up, somehow. What was he after, forgiveness? He couldn't get that. She wasn't Anna. Elizabeth wasn't his little girl. It was wishful thinking. Elizabeth was an adult. She didn't need him to tell her what was right or wrong. She was her own person, she made her own decisions. And by labeling her as his daughter Booker denied the full-grown part of her. The woman that didn't need a father. A woman that held her own. You can't parent an adult. Having Booker as a father gave the impression that as soon as Elizabeth was full-grown in his eyes, she'd be kicked out of the nest. Ready to take on the world on her own. Separate them. But, that was not how they worked. They hadn't bonded over family ties. They had met each other as woman and man. They had grown to appreciate each other as a person, not as a blood relative. 'Daughter' didn't quite cut it, nor did 'father'. Whatever they were to each other; 'family' wasn't a sufficient description. Booker hadn't seen that. At the revelation of Elizabeth being his daughter, he felt he should at least make an attempt to be the father she never had. It was quite the shock he'd been fighting alongside his daughter, how in the beginning he had been willing to sell her out... _again_. He had hurt her so terribly. He had sold her, and it was _his_  fault she'd grown up in a life of captivity. Something worse than death, as she had put it once. He'd brought his daughter into a state of death, if you looked at it that way. Needless to say, Booker was crushed by guilt. And so, Booker had given them the label of family upon the discovery. He would tend to his daughter like he _should_  for a change. Be a good dad to her. He'd do his best. But apparently, him being a father was not what she needed from him. In fact, it was quite the opposite, seeing as having him as a father seemed something she detested. It hurt, of course. He was denied the chance to be what he could've been to her; a father. But, father wasn't enough. It wasn't _accurate_  and was not desired from her side. It was merely a sliver of a hopeful dream that Booker tried to act out, fueled by guilt. His wish for a daughter was crushed underneath Elizabeth's heel. He wasn't her father. He could never _truly_  be, no matter what he wished. He _wasn't_. He felt a lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth..." He started, alcohol enhancing his distraught and disappointed mood, his heart heavy in his chest. "I figured...you know..." He mumbled incoherently, softly pressing his forehead against her temple, swallowing harshly. "I just really wanted a daughter..." There was a small crack in his voice as he spoke.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth felt Booker’s arms embrace her and the tears flowed faster. Of course he couldn’t know how she felt. Elizabeth hadn’t realized how deeply she was wounded either until she was actually forced to talk about it.  He mumbled an apology near her ear, and Elizabeth’s heart went out to him. But the next few words out of Booker’s mouth transformed her tenderness into rage. She rose from her chair abruptly, surging forward in a sudden outburst of violence. Her hands made contact with Booker’s body and she forcefully shoved him away. “Liar!” Elizabeth hissed at him, scalding hot tears streaming down her face. “You _never_  wanted a daughter and you _still_ don’t. When I was a child you didn’t want me. You wanted to be comfortably numb, and now that I’m an adult, you just don’t want to feel guilty, “she spat glaring at Booker with angry blue eyes. “I’m _not_  your fucking daughter and I sure as hell ain’t your second chance. I am my own _person_  with feelings God damn it. And I will not be categorized, labeled, and put into a mold just so _you_  can feel better about yourself.” Elizabeth stated, bluntly.  “What grows crooked _can’t_   be made straight. I am what I am, and nothing is ever going to change that, and trying to live out some false vicarious fantasy strips me of my identity and reduces me to an _object_.  It dismisses _everything_  that I have had to go through just to survive,” the young woman’s hands were balled into tight fists, her entire body trembled and the anguish in her voice was palpable. “Redemption isn’t about false hope it’s about taking responsibility for what you’ve done, picking up the best pieces you have left and being able to _move on_  without remorse. We weren’t given the chance to be together just so you can lie to yourself.” Elizabeth practically growled the words, tears still streaming down her lovely face. “Every time you look at me and think about “what might have been” is a fucking slap in the face. You _rejected_  me as a child and now that I’m grown and not that child you reject me _again_. What am I not good enough for you?” she asked bitterly. “How many fucking times are you going to break my heart Booker DeWitt?”

 **Booker DeWitt::** Booker backed off when she pushed him away, emotions running high as she lashed out at him, calling him out on his bullshit. "Don't even _go_  there!" Booker yelled at her, emotion and alcohol running through his veins. How dare she...! "How _dare_  you say I didn't want a fucking kid!?" Booker had a wild look in his eyes as he kept yelling at her. "Did you fucking think I _longed_  to give you away!? Is that it!?" The accusation was the only thing spinning through his mind this instant, focused on her insult. "Do you think I sold you for extra booze!? Or what!?" Booker was losing it, his body tense, angry at her. "Fuck no." He shook his head, taking another swig of the bottle, before drunkenly ranting on with a hostile tone in his voice. "My lovely wife _died_ , I had debts from here to Tokyo and back and men willing to kill me for it, I was in no condition to raise a kid! It was a dangerous environment, unsafe, disgusting, poor, filthy! And then that fucking _Robert_  came busting down my door. Talking about how he had a good place for you and all that shit, and I was drunk and desperate enough to believe him and I made the worst decision a father can make and It _kills_  me every day, I fucked up, I know that, trust me, I do, but don't you ever even dare to say I didn't want a fucking kid, you hear me!?"

 **Elizabeth::**  Booker exploded with anger of his own, becoming fiercely defensive. But, even with his voiced raised at her Elizabeth didn’t back down. Tears kept flowing out her intense blue eyes as she stared down the belligerent man in front her. “Oh, I don’t doubt your guilt. But, guess what? You _don’t_  have a child standing here in front of you. You have an adult. And for all your regret what good does it do you? Your guilt changes _nothing_. Anna is _gone_. Let it _go_. You’ll never have a parent-child relationship with me, that time has past. Trying to fit me into the role of daughter is insulting _me_  as a person and everything that I’ve gone through for _you_.” She pointed her index finger at him to emphasize her point. “Are you so hung up around fatherhood that _my_  forgiveness and love isn’t enough for you? The only thing you have is the continued opportunity to know and care about me as a person. As Elizabeth. If you don’t want that, you better come right out and say it.” The young woman continued, her harsh voice tasting just as bitter as the tears that fell upon her lips.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Anna was gone. All that was there in front of him was Elizabeth. She wasn't his kid, and Booker somehow had to accept that. He had to realize that pushing her into that role was the same as dismissing who she was. It was a lost battle, a futile attempt to fix something irreversible. Like turning charcoal back into wood. Elizabeth simply wasn't Anna. She never had been. He _had_  to see that. Acknowledge it. Live with it. There were no second chances. Anna was _dead_. Booker felt lightheaded at that thought, backing up until he hit the wall with a soft thud. He gave up. His little girl was dead. Died because of him. He brought a trembling hand up to his face, covering his eyes as he slid down the wall in defeat, head tilted downwards. He sat there in silence, the sound drowned out in his wave of nausea, not even hearing if Elizabeth said something to him. All he could think of was Anna. "Give me some time..." He eventually mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady. He was wrong to try to turn Elizabeth into his daughter. She was _right_  and it hurt him like hell, as if he was losing Anna all over again. "I'm sorry, just...give me some time." He mumbled, eyes firmly closed shut behind his trembling marked hand.

 **Elizabeth::**    It hurt Elizabeth to watch Booker slide against the wall and down to the ground. She could taste his despair in the back of her throat. But, the grieving process had to start somewhere, and that’s exactly what it was. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she should let him be or if she should try to comfort him or not.  Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? He’d push her away? Been there done that. Still crying, Elizabeth quietly knelt down next to Booker on the floor. She gently plucked the bottle of whiskey out of Booker’s loose grasp and set it aside. She scooted closer to Booker and took his empty hand in hers. Elizabeth kissed the rough hand, her soft lips brushing against the calloused skin, like velvet gliding across broken gravel. The man shuddered and Elizabeth briefly pressed his large hand against her damp cheek before placing it in her lap weaving her small delicate fingers through the webbing of Booker’s hand. She gave it a firm squeeze before she leaned in close, whispering “I know. I’m here. I will _always_  be here.” Elizabeth rested her small chin on Booker’s broad shoulder lightly nuzzling the side of the his face. It was a long hard road out of Hell, but at least they wouldn’t have to bear their grief alone anymore.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  The fingers limply glided away from the bottle as Elizabeth carefully took it from Booker. Surprisingly, he barely seemed to notice, or maybe he simply _let_  her, 'cause normally Booker didn't take kind to people grabbing booze from his hands, but hey, he wasn't exactly in a standard situation now. The bottled whiskey was replaced with a tender hand that held onto him, giving him comfort by touch. Warm lips brushed against his skin, distracting him somewhat from his mental ache with a shudder. His focus shifted to the feeling of tears in the palm of his hand, cheek soft against him. Booker only faintly moved his hand along. He may touch her, but he made no efforts to cup her cheek whatsoever. It wasn't until their fingers intertwined that he actually gave her small squeeze, though it easily could've been mistaken for a twitch by how short it was. Elizabeth whispered comforting words as she leaned in closer, adding to the comforting physical closeness. It was easier for Booker to be comforted by touch than by words, but Elizabeth seemed capable of using both aspects to their fullest. She was here for him. He wasn't alone. He may not have his daughter, but he _did_  have Elizabeth. She was there for him. He didn't have to be afraid he'd end up sitting somewhere alone, drinking himself to death. He had someone now. She was enough, wasn't she? She wasn't his daughter, but...she was still someone he'd fight for, he knew that. Someone worth the fight. He'd be there for her. Not as a father, they had established that, but as...well, whatever the hell it was they had going on, he supposed. Booker didn't reciprocate her touch, did not pull her closer whatsoever, but he appreciated her closeness, her presence calming him. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but his nausea faded, and he finally lowered the hand from his face. He didn't tremble anymore, his body was calm. "...I'm going to bed." Was what he finally said when he trusted his voice again. There was a silent question in statement, but it was probably too subtle to be picked up, he knew. Whatever, he'd just ask. He really didn't want another restless night, he couldn't put up with it, he'd been exhausted the past few weeks. "Can I join you?" He simply asked, not giving an explanation as to why he wanted that; she'd know he was exhausted.

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth sat with Booker on the floor for a long time, until he seemed to calm down. The man finally lowered his hand, and announced that he was going to go to bed. It was still very early at night, but the combination of alcohol and emotional exhaustion made the handsome man’s face look haggard. He turned his head to the side to look at her, his green eyes imploring. Elizabeth swallowed on reflex her long eyelashes still dark and heavy from crying when Booker asked if he could sleep with her. She nodded her head. “Yeah, of course. Go on upstairs and get comfortable. I’ll clean up a bit down here and be up in a few minutes.” She told him softly. Booker seemed relieved and much more relaxed once he heard her answer. Elizabeth got to her feet quicker than Booker did and she helped him stand up until he had regained his sense of balance. She closely watched him ascend the stairs making sure he would make it up alright before she stared gathering up the dishes. Any food that was left over was stored in the refrigerator, and then the young woman slowly and methodically cleaned their plates, glasses, utensils, and the large skillet she had used to prepare dinner. Elizabeth took her time drying everything off and putting it all away. She even washed down the kitchen counter and the dinner table, and just when the young woman made her last pass with the wash rag on the table she remember the bottle of whiskey that was still sitting on the floor. Elizabeth picked it off the floor and thought about finishing the strong liquor off but thought the better of it. She didn’t feel sick and drinking any more would probably be pushing her luck. Elizabeth found the bottle cap on the floor underneath the table and had to crawl beneath it in order to get to it. She washed it off and screwed it back on tight and put the bottle away in a cabinet. Elizabeth looked around, and saw that there was nothing else to be done and so she climbed the stairs her legs feeling awkwardly heavy. 

Elizabeth went into the bathroom first and splashed some cold water on her face and briefly washed up, paying the most attention to getting the dirt off the bottoms of her feet. Since she spent the day sitting in the shade drinking wine Elizabeth didn’t get really sweaty or dirty so she would skip the shower.  But, when it came to her groin she nearly hesitated. Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. Fuck that book.  She finished cleaning up and turned off the faucet in the sink with one hand and killed the light with the other. With still damp feet Elizabeth padded over to her bedroom pausing slightly in the doorway. It was dark in her bedroom except for the narrow swath of moonlight coming in from one of the windows, but she could clearly make out Booker’s sleeping form lying beneath a sheet on her bed; an unusual sight, but not an unpleasant one. It was just a different experience to go to bed and find him waiting for her, even if he was asleep. Elizabeth took off the ribbon at her neck and carefully laid it on top of a small desk across the room that was piled with books. She stood in the pale moonlight and quietly undressed. Elizabeth pulled her blouse out from the waist of her skirt and unfastened the little buttons with her long fingers. She shrugged out of the shirt with a roll of her shoulders and let the piece of clothing fall to floor, then she firmly gripped the fabric of her skirt and tugged that down past her knees and stepped out of it, then finally pulled her white petticoat off revealing her silk dark blue chemise. Elizabeth suffered a brief moment of self-consciousness, but chose to ignore it. Sure, it was form fitting like the majority of her things but it wasn’t as transparent as some of her other undergarments. Elizabeth covered her mouth as she let out a silent yawn. Time for sleep, she thought sleepily. _Please God, don’t let me dream._

 **Booker DeWitt::** With heavy limbs Booker trudged upstairs to Elizabeth's room. He was out of it, his heart sunk in his chest in defeat. All thoughts that spooked through his head consisted of guilt in one way or another. Guilt for not having raised Anna, mostly, but also guilt for making Elizabeth feel unwanted in his attempts to see her as Anna. He just wanted to sleep, slide into comfortable temporary forgetting. Take a time-out. Tomorrow everything would be better, right? Some sleep would help. Take the edge off. And despite their fight, Booker knew he would sleep better in her presence. He had barely been able to get some proper restful sleep these past weeks. Nightmares kept him up at night, leaving him bleak and dejected. It was pretty similar to the sleeping situation back in his office. Only now, he didn't drink as much. He knew he could handle it. It's not like he had nightmares every night, luckily. He could manage. It was just that he slept _easier_  knowing there was someone he trusted near. A physical presence that eased his mind. Someone that looked out for him, them simply _being_  there was enough, he didn't need anything more than that. Just some rest, that was all. Just get some rest and let himself calm down from this unwanted emotional incident. Just cool off, look at it in the morning. Not now. Just get some sleep. With that thought in mind Booker stripped himself of his clothing until he was left in his boxer shorts only. He almost lost his balance as he got into bed, his eyelids heavy. He was so incredibly _tired_. He made himself comfortable under the sheets, facing the wall, lazily curled up on his side. The half-drunk man started to drift off the sleep, and by the time he was fully asleep the soft sound of footsteps awoke him. He didn't open his eyes, simply too tired. And frankly, there was no benefit to it either, considering he'd be staring at the wall. He listened to his daughter...to _Elizabeth_  getting undressed, the sound of fabric folding and sliding clearly audible. He could vaguely visualize her petite form, being able to tell which pieces of clothing she was taking off by the subtle differences in sound. Blouse, skirt, petticoat...And that was where it stopped. She let out a tiny yawn before she crawled into bed with him. Due to Booker's half curled position they were back to back at this point, if Elizabeth didn't want to be pushed out of bed. Booker didn't move, allowing himself to drift off to sleep once he was sure Elizabeth had stopped to toss and turn to get comfortable. And with that, he let his body relax entirely, finally get a good night's rest. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. What a fight. Thanks to everyone for reading & see everyone next time!


	11. The Crown of Obstinacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of an intense argument Booker & Elizabeth take some time to relax and swim. As usual any calm between them doesn't last for very long.

**Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth was restless for a bit when she slipped into bed next to Booker.  Even though she was really hot Elizabeth lightly tugged the sheet up past her chest. She tried not to fidget _too_  much, but after a time she finally settled down with her spine firmly pressed into Booker’s back.  Elizabeth surrendered her consciousness and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. That was how the both of them gratefully rested, completely dead to the world and their persistently troubled minds.  They passed through the night peacefully and uneventfully, both of their bodies only occasionally tossing and turning.  Elizabeth’s movements were in sync with Booker’s as they slept and any stray limbs falling here or there wasn’t even felt their exhaustion was so great. As the night passed into morning the temperature continued to rise. The heat became acutely uncomfortable, making the young woman stir in her sleep. But, Elizabeth desperately hung on to the blissful, untroubled sleep, tossing and turning just a little bit more the hotter it got in her bedroom, eventually kicking off the thin bed sheet that had concealed her sleeping form.  Long and thin white limbs with exceptionally tiny wrists and ankles contracted and retracted towards and away from herself; her lithe frame alternating from being curled up to sprawled out on her bed. Elizabeth slept on like she was alone, without Booker there, her significantly smaller body herding his unconscious form closer and closer to the wall.  As the morning became brighter the space between their two bodies became greater, Booker’s face was almost pressed into the wall and Elizabeth’s tiny body was close to the edge on her side of the bed. But, the light from the morning sun made the young woman roll over onto her opposite side. The motion tugged Elizabeth’s dark blue chemise upwards finally stopping around mid-thigh. That was how the young woman slept on in the morning heat, slender gazelle legs slightly spread out like a pair of partially opened scissors, the curve of her hip sloping down drastically to her small waist. She rested her head on top of one folded arm, while the other arm was curled off to the side, the position compacted Elizabeth’s narrow chest revealing only part of the natural swell of her breast.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker woke up because of the heat. He steadily kept breathing, not feeling like getting up just yet. Man, that was a good rest, he had desperately been in need of it. He felt refreshed, his energy replenished. He had expected to have a hang-over, but he felt pretty great. No headache whatsoever. Then again, he hadn't drunk _that_  much either, right? Not by Booker's standard at least. He took in a deep breath. Well, he may not be bothered by a headache from drinking so much, but the large consumption of whiskey did cause something else. Booker really had to take a piss, and in combination with his morning wood it was anything but comfortable. With his back still turned to Elizabeth he went to check if she was still asleep or not. He glanced at her over his shoulder. She had pushed the sheets off in her sleep it seemed, and now lay sprawled on the bed, taking up most of the space with her spread legs. She seemed comfortable, part of her skin exposed to the air, including her chest, where Booker's eyes lingered just a few moments too long. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself. Yeah, right, good choice, Booker DeWitt, why don't you stare at her? It's not like she's your fucking _daughter_  right?

His own actions angered him. Sure, Elizabeth didn't _want_  to be his daughter, he knew that now, but abiding to that wish would be difficult. He would try, he supposed. That was the least he could do for her. No more parental actions. He'd stop with that. He would not be a father to her, no matter how that bothered him. He wouldn't mention it. Wouldn't imply it. He'd respect her for who she was. But, ultimately, she was _still_  his biological daughter and it was _wrong_  to stare at her chest like he just had been. He let it slide, and rolled over to his other side quietly. He didn't bother to wait for her to wake up, he had had enough sleep, and he really had to go to the bathroom. And so, he crawled up, carefully moving over Elizabeth's body without touching her, creating dents in the mattress. He moved slow, hoping not to wake her, and eventually had his feet on the ground. He scratched the back of his head sleepily as he padded over to the bathroom. Once inside he closed the door behind him, wondering if he should jerk off first and then pee or the other way around. Once he made his decision he pulled down his boxers, standing in front of the toilet. He leaned forward, hands at the wall above the toilet supporting his weight. Once he stood his ground he used the other hand to firmly grip his shaft, forcing his erection to be bent downwards, and with that, he could finally empty his bladder, feeling relieved.

After he had taken a shower and jerked off Booker walked downstairs to the kitchen in his boxers. He felt pretty great, last night's fight considered. He made a pot of coffee, adding lots of sugar in his mug. He rolled his shoulder back, glancing outside. Hm, it was a nice day. May be good to work in the garden today. He sipped from his coffee, his gaze falling upon the little book on the sofa. He didn't feel like finishing that story. He took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the taste of it. The coffee in Columbia had been without sugar, most of the time. He enjoyed it, but, still it was just better with sugar. Drinking coffee in Columbia had been more for replenishing salts. He put his mug aside for a bit, taking a skillet, and started to prepare breakfast for them. Or, rather, lunch at this point. Man, he had really slept long, hadn't he? Right, let's see...Toast, eggs, bacon...

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth awakened to the delicious smells of cooking food, and sat up in bed with a large yawn. Man, she was _really_ hungry. The young woman rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. She relieved her full bladder and splashed some cold water on her face to wake up.  Once out of the bathroom her feet automatically began to descend the steps heading downstairs. She got half way down when she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to get dressed. Unlike Booker, Elizabeth didn’t usually make a habit of being around in her underthings unless she was coming out of the water from swimming. With the heat ramping in up towards the hottest part of the day a cold swim sounded pretty good. She’d eat then go throw herself into the lake, then maybe she’d finally wake up. As it was Elizabeth felt like she was still asleep even though her eyes were wide open. It was probably just the heat and an empty belly making her feel sluggish. So fuck it. The young woman continued down the stairs and walked into the kitchen were Booker was already preparing food for them. She covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned again, lifting up the other arm in a half stretch. Having heard her come down the steps, Booker turned his attention from the skillet he had on to stove to Elizabeth. She groggily mumbled “good morning” before she brushed past him to snatch a piece of toast. Her mouth bit down on the bland piece of bread and she held it in between her front teeth while she opened the cabinet where they kept all their glasses. Elizabeth rose on her tip toes, her arm stretching for a glass, her fingers hooking around the lip of one and pulling it towards her. When a glass was in her hand she tore off a bite of toast and chewed while she poured herself a glass of orange juice.  The bread disappeared quickly and Elizabeth replaced it with a shiny red apple tossing it in the air and catching it one handed before taking a hard bite out of the crisp fruit’s juicy flesh. Elizabeth walked over to her chair at the table with her apple in one hand and a glass of juice in the other; she sat herself and the glass down, propping her elbows on the table before she took another bite out of her apple. Elizabeth methodically chewed and wiped the juice off her chin with the back of her hand before half turning in her seat to find Booker looking in her direction. She slouched in her chair, resting her head back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. “At least one of us is awake,” Elizabeth murmured dryly before her teeth cleanly sheared off another chunk of fruit with a distinctive snap.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Glancing back over his shoulder at Elizabeth once more he wished her a good morning, to which she responded tiredly after stretching. She got hold of a piece of toast, mindlessly getting herself something to drink while she kept the hardened bread in her mouth. Despite her sleepy haze she managed to keep a pleasant flow in her movements, moving about and around effortlessly. As she tossed the apple up in the air Booker had to stop himself from snatching it from her mid-air. He would've liked to see the look on her face at him bluntly stealing her delicious piece of fruit. But, Booker was occupied with cooking, prodding at his meal with a spatula, glancing back at Elizabeth at one point, catching her eyes as she ate. Elizabeth. Not Anna. He tried to learn to see a distinction between the two. Doing so had been much easier when he simply hadn't _known_  she was his daughter. She was simply Elizabeth, daughter of Comstock, even though he had started to doubt that once he learned that she was supposedly born within a week. In hindsight, all these little things made sense. At first he had thought Comstock had been cheating on Lady Comstock, thinking the child was from a different woman, but in fact he had simply stolen Booker's kid. _Stolen_. Not bought. Either way, somehow, he had to get back to thinking of Elizabeth as...well, as Elizabeth. Before he had known they were related. When they had run alongside each other to get through the day. When she had simply been Elizabeth. A girl that had roughly been shoved into adulthood by their ordeals. A girl that he'd fight tooth and nail for, related or not. She was worth having. Her not acknowledging him as a father didn't change that. She was still someone he greatly cared for, daughter or not. It would take some time to get himself back to that state of mind. He couldn't simply _forget_  that she was his daughter. There was a faint tug at the corner of his lips. How do you forget? You don't. You just learn to live with it.

 Booker went over to his chair, smirking lightly as she commented on how he was awake, unlike her. He took a firm bite of his meal, sitting opposite of her, watching her sharp teeth dig into the fruit with crisp bites. Hmm, tasted good. They quietly ate on, Booker taking a sip of his coffee every so often. The events from last night seemed more distant now, not as dramatic now that it was broad daylight. Or maybe the sleep had just helped. But, still, last night he hadn't been entirely sober, he wasn't sure what he had said and what he had thought. So, for the record, he'd just make clear to her what he was up for. "About last night." He started, taking another bite. "I'm gonna try to abide your wish, no more...parenting." He spoke with a hint of benevolence, the will to make it right. "I just need some time to get things sorted out." He lightly touched the side of his temple. "Just give me some time, I'll try my best." He added. "You're great as you are, truly." Another sip of coffee, his eyes fixed upon her at the rare compliment.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker made mention of their fight last night, and Elizabeth felt herself bristle slightly. Without making much of a comment she quietly listened to him talk, staring straight ahead. Once he was finished speaking, the young woman lazily rolled her head to the side to look at him. Her mouth wrapped around her piece of fruit and she sunk her teeth into the flesh for another bite. Her long dark eye lashes lifted slightly, the emotion in her deep blue eyes was enigmatic as she gazed at him. I don’t fucking need you to tell me how great I am, she thought but didn’t say out loud. True, a compliment was rare coming from him, but what did Elizabeth care? She lived her entire life without his compliments and would continue to do so. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and turned her apple in the palm of her hand to sink her teeth into the other side, she bit, slowly chewed, and swallowed unaware of how her indifference made her appear rather sultry. Indifference was an unfamiliar place inside of Elizabeth, but in a way she was similar to Booker in the fact that her indifference was next door neighbors with her more primal instincts…mostly sexual ones. “Hmmm,” was her only reply to Booker’s compliment as she continued to eat her fruit.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   DeWitt watched her eat her apple, languidly, her mouth moving with precision, and yet with indifference as to where she would take her next bite. Sultry, in a way. She was either very sleepy, or very indifferent to his words. Coming from the energetic Elizabeth he did not take that as a good sign. Her mumbled response made her look more like her father than she seemed to realize. Or was she doing so on purpose to mock him? Who knew. One way or another, he didn't like it. But what did he expect? Hurray, thank you for trying to do what you _should_  have been doing a lot earlier? Well, at least she had _somewhat_  acknowledged his will to make a change. It was better than complete silence. At her response he made no effort to keep the conversation going, instead eating on in silence, washing his meal down with coffee, looking at his plate instead of at Elizabeth, his fingers digging into the toast.

 **Elizabeth::**   When Elizabeth finished her apple Booker was still working on his meal, his long fingers holding onto a piece of toast like it would try to wriggle away from him at any second. She drained her glass of orange juice dry and rose from her seat. Elizabeth linked her arms behind her back and languidly stretched for a moment before removing her apple core and empty glass from the table. She discarded the core in silence and rinsed her glass out in silence. The young woman stretched once more then rolled her shoulders and opened the back door stepping into the sweltering heat her small toes briefly digging into the warm grass beneath her feet.  Elizabeth moved forward in surprisingly long strides for her height the blades of grass tickling the back of her calves. The young woman headed for the lake, and once she got to the edge she jumped in.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker gazed at Elizabeth as she made her way outside, probably off for a swim. His gaze trailed down from her spine down to her legs, admiring the stride in which she walked. He swallowed his last bite. He quickly did the dishes for both of them, the heat outside increasing. Once he had dried everything off and put it back into place he went upstairs to change his boxershorts for actual shorts, and with that he headed outside to the garden. With the sun beating down on his bare back he removed weeds, cut off stems of plants that didn't get enough light and replanted them, hoping they'd catch root. The tomatoes seemed to be doing fine, growing rather quickly at this rate. Other than that he prepared some more ground to plant some more potatoes later on. He worked hard, sometimes going back inside to drink some water, not wanting to get a sunstroke. Eventually he found he had done enough work for today; time for a swim. And with that he made his way over to the little lake. His body glistened with sweat, and he longed to cool off in the water. And that he did. He eagerly dove into the water, cold emerging his body at last, giving him goosebumps. Hmmm, much better.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth nearly spent most of her day swimming in the cool water, taking little breaks here and there to sun herself in the grass warming her body much like a reptile would.  Every once in a while her gaze would fall on Booker’s bare back as he worked in their garden. He was very efficient in his movements and Elizabeth wondered if he was ever _extravagant_  in any sort of physical activity. Granted shooting a hand canon one handed made for a pretty show. She let herself sink down, submerging her body in the cold water. Was Booker DeWitt efficient or extravagant when it came to sex? She shook her head half embarrassed, her brown hair feathering out in the water. But, why should she care?  Why should she feel self-conscious? They were just thoughts nothing more. At that precise moment Booker dove into the lake, Elizabeth could feel the ripples of water that were left in his wake. She patiently waited for him to re-surface.  Elizabeth had been working on increasing her time holding her breath under water. In a bad situation it would probably be the thing that kept her from panicking, which in turn would save her ass. When she could faintly make out the shape of Booker’s long legs in the water Elizabeth propelled herself forward smoothly. Elizabeth congratulated herself on the hours she spent getting better at swimming paying off, otherwise Booker would have felt her coming. Not this time, she thought with a smirk recalling all the moments he had sneaked up on her in a similar fashion.  Elizabeth slowly moved in closer towards the man’s vulnerable legs. As she languidly glided by she ran her fingers across the bottoms of his feet, startling him. Elizabeth quickly swam to the surface and she broke through the water with a half-gasp half laugh. Streams flowed down her wet body starting with her hair and racing down the planes of her face, down the slender column of her pale neck drizzling in tenuous lines across her chest. Elizabeth pushed a lock of hair off her face; her eyelashes were heavy with water droplets and a few fell and landed on her full lower lip. Elizabeth briefly pressed the lips of her mouth together on reflex. She delighted in the expression on Booker’s face and Elizabeth let out a throaty laugh in between gasping for air.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   In a reflex Booker jerked his leg up, startled by the feeling of tickled feet. What the... Elizabeth resurfaced, her laughter making her look stunning in combination with the many water drops on her skin, tiny streams flowing down. She resembled a siren due to how comfortable she seemed in the water, ready to lure Booker to his death. Enchanting words flowing from her lips, reeling him in, dragging him under, never letting him resurface. Yeah, she had definitely improved a lot. She didn't fight against the water to stay afloat, she used the water for her own good now, fully able to enjoy it in the same way he did. Corner of his lip was slightly tugged up as he glanced at her laughing at her successful tease. "That's a _terrible_  thing to do." Booker mused lowly with a hypocritical grin, knowing full well he had done that to her quite a lot more. As a form of punishment for her action he swooped his arm through the water, making a medium wave splash right in her face. Booker smirked at her reaction, and quickly went underwater to avoid the wave she was about to retaliate with. And with that he dove lower, tickling her feet, some retaliation of his own. Running out of air, he calmly swam back to the surface.

 **Elizabeth::**  Terrible…sure. She could do a whole lot worse than that, Elizabeth was sure of it.  But, before she had time to think Booker sent a generous wave of water directly towards her face, disorienting her. Ah! She blinked her eyes rapidly in confusion for a few seconds but before she could get even, Booker disappeared beneath the water. Elizabeth felt his fingers brush against her sensitive feet and she was instantly jerking away and laughing at the same time desperate to get away from the sensation. Just as Booker’s head was breaking through the placid surface of the water she ruthlessly sent a large wave of water into his face. But, Elizabeth didn’t stop there. She kept up her barrage as she swam forward closer and closer to him; constantly changing where her hands and arms struck the water to keep catching him off guard. Elizabeth hit him with one final splashing wave and partially leapt out of the water with it. She wrapped her slender arms around the man’s broad shoulders with her right hand latching onto her left wrist. His body swayed a little from the impact, flesh colliding into flesh. Elizabeth used the buoyancy of the water to hoist herself up and climb onto Booker’s back. They both sunk into the water momentarily before Booker’s legs kicked in order to keep himself afloat. She pressed her warm body into Booker’s scarred back. Elizabeth had just eliminated the huge range Booker’s large arms had on her. Sure, he could retaliate in other ways, but he would not be splashing her in the face anymore. No sir.  She lightly rested her chin on one of Booker’s shoulders. Now that she had the proper time to reply the young woman did. “ _I’m_  terrible huh. Well then, _fuck you_ , you hypocritical asshole.” Elizabeth growled into Booker DeWitt’s ear with pleasure unable to contain the strange surge of happiness she felt coursing through her.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  Booker's grin grew wider as Elizabeth gave him a taste of his own recipe, splashing the water in his direction continuously. Because of that, some water wound up in his mouth, but it didn't matter, he was attempting to keep dodging her splashes, but not quite managing to do so, playing a little amusing game that Elizabeth was winning. At one point Elizabeth held onto him right after her final splash. When she put pressure on him, climbing a bit better onto him she pushed Booker down in the water. Booker wasn't alarmed whatsoever, grinning even while underwater. With a few quick strong movements of his legs he was back up the surface, spitting out some water. He laughed silently, entertained and a lot more relaxed in the water, more at ease. DeWitt liked the pressure of a body against his, two warm bodies in the cold water. But, it wasn't the cold alone that gave him goose bumps. Booker suppressed a shudder as Elizabeth growled into his ear, so very close and intimate. There was a sultry snarl in her tone as she put emphasis on the 'fuck you' part. Of course, it was just what it was: a playful insult, but whenever someone whispered or growled said two words in his ear normally it was meant in a more literal way. A growl when he pinned them to a bed, when he fucked them hard, when they desperately clung to him, growling a 'fuck you' that was filled of desire, longing to come, urge him on to give just that little extra fervor. So, hearing it from Elizabeth was a bit weird for him. It was too intimate. An actual angry 'fuck you' from her was perfectly fine. But when she whispered it in his ear in an unintended sultry voice? Not so much. Still, he didn't let it ruin his playful mood. He'd _show_  her that he had other ways to get her than splashing in her face. He grinned, cocking his head to the side ever so lightly. And with that he pushed himself backwards, floating on his back, pushing Elizabeth underwater. He laughed as he felt her fingers dig into him, stubbornly refusing to let go, she would not let Booker DeWitt win. He leaned back forwards again, not wanting to keep her underwater for too long, and he heard her gasp for air. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, hard to see her considering she was clutched to his back.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth heard and _felt_  Booker’s rich rumbly laughter as he found new ways to torture her. The reverberations of his amusement shook into her chest while she was submerged beneath the water. She stubbornly refused to let go as he attempted to shake her loose by floating on his back. She hung in there and Booker eventually leaned forward bringing her out of the water, she immediately sucked in a ragged breath. Damn. It was a good thing she had been working a lot on holding her breath under water lately. Well, Elizabeth would _show_  him that she wasn’t an easy nut to crack if that’s what he was trying to do. Booker craned his neck to the side as much as he could trying to see her, which was nearly impossible with her clinging to his back.  Hmm…Elizabeth moved her face closer towards Booker’s but in the opposite direction he was looking. “Looking for me?” she asked teasingly, withdrawing her beautiful face as soon as Booker’s head turned in the direction of her voice. “Don’t tell me you miss the sight of my face _already_?” Elizabeth whispered in his opposite ear completely amused, retreating to Booker’s back once again as soon as he craned his neck straining to look at her. She gave him just little flashes of her face, but never the whole picture and she delighted in the irrational frustration growing inside him.  “You see me every day;  you couldn’t have possibly forgotten what I look like in the span of a few seconds.” And again her lovely face darted away. Elizabeth’s voice was warm and thick, like honey. It had a certain cadence to it that made you wonder what she was thinking about. It was like bait. “Hmmm?” She hummed in the other ear, feeling Booker tense up. Elizabeth denied him the sight of her face and well shit…it actually seemed to be frustrating him. “You’re going to have think of something more clever than floating on your back if you wanna lose me.” Elizabeth said with a throaty chuckle.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker grinned at Elizabeth's teasing words, turning his head to the other side to see her, but she had already withdrawn. She whispered in his ear, teasingly mocking him for not being able to see her, resulting in Booker whipping his head to the side, still no luck of seeing her. It was a fun game that seemed impossible to win at this rate, but he kept trying, muscles in his neck bulging under the strain. He caught glimpses of her, but not more than that. No good proper look of her beautiful face. Not seeing her dark eyelashes. Not her soft lips. Not her bright playful eyes. He spun around in the water at times, as if that would help him get a better look of her, knowing full well it wouldn't work, but it was _fun_. Slowly but surely, the challenge to see her turned into a _need_  to see her. Instead of playfully trying to see her, he actually got more into it, trying for real to see her, but having no such luck. Forgotten what she looked like? He whipped his head to the side fruitlessly another time. Not at all, but...Memory was not quite the same as seeing the actual thing. He wanted to lay eyes on her, see the smile that he could _hear_  in her voice. And when she let out a low questioning hum in his ear it stirred something in Booker. To him, it sounded sexual. It was too close. Too intimate. Admittedly, he really liked the sound, he enjoyed the low noises women let out, but he didn't like it coming from his _daughter_. No no, not his daughter. Not Anna. _Elizabeth_. Not the emotional daughter, but the biological daughter. He felt conflicted and downright _stupid_  for associating the sound with sex, but his brain just worked that way. Warm lips practically against his ear, filling him with her thick voice, body pushed against him...he swallowed harshly, glad that the water was cold. Booker kept trying to see her, desperately at this point. They kept up the game, and at one point, after a few more cranes of his neck he played his little trick. He pretended to whip his head to the side again, but mid-motion he turned his head back quickly, their faces ending up near the same spot due to the feint. Hmm, he still couldn't see her, but at least he got her, in a sense, her nose bumping into his cheek. Booker held still for a moment, tasting his little victory. But, it wasn't a full victory. Of course, he could drop down underwater, forcing her to let go of him if she didn't want to drown, but that wasn't quite the way to go, he wasn't that cruel. So instead, he went for something else. He reached behind him, holding onto her legs and pulling them around his waist. Before she would realize what it was that he tried to do he held her legs against him, pinned between his body and arms. And with that, he started tickling her feet with a smug grin on his face, anticipating her struggling and kicking to get away, which is why he held her legs firm. Only if she would let go of his neck would he win. He would accept that as defeat.

 **Elizabeth::**  Booker pulled her legs around his waist, trapping them against his body. What the---oh, shit. Elizabeth jerked violently at the sensation of Booker’s dexterous fingers playing with the soles of her dainty feet. “You ass—“she was cut off by the sound of her own laughter, a flurry of unrestrained giggles surged through her sensitive body and out of her mouth.  “ _Fuck you_!” Elizabeth managed to blurt out breathlessly before she was overwhelmed with another wave of helpless laughter. She fought against the hold Booker had over her legs desperately kicking like a wild horse. A low chuckle reached her ears and that only infuriated the young woman. He was laughing at her. “Oh, my God, STOP it! You _fucker_ ,” Elizabeth cursed, her entire body writhing around Booker’s back trying to get away. Every inch of her fought Booker and fought _herself_  to resist the urge to let go of him. There really wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t make contact with the man’s flesh in some way, but the tickling just didn’t stop. Fuck, she could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. “Stt--stop!” she gasped angrily. Booker’s fingers lightly stroked the inner arch of her foot, and Elizabeth squirmed, her tight hold around his upper body loosening then tightening again. “God DAMN IT!” Elizabeth seethed, her finger nails viciously dug into the flesh of Booker’s shoulders. Her nails tore into the golden skin with bitter resolve drawing little half-moons of blood as she breathlessly continued to laugh and continued to curse him.  But, in the war of attrition Elizabeth couldn’t win because she was simply burning through way too much energy trying to get away and still hang on at the same time. What could she do? She could _try_  to threaten him. Why the fuck not? She didn’t have anything to lose at this point because the purposeful tickling was stealing her breath and driving her mad.  Booker paused ever so slightly, he had all the time in the world to torture her of course; drawing out her suffering. Elizabeth seized the opportunity to finally say something that was more than four syllable words. “Mother fucker, if you do _not_  stop right now… I _swear_  to fucking God I will fucking _bite_  you.” Elizabeth hissed in warning.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Laughter was the only response Elizabeth got at her string of curses and imprecations. His body shook with laughter, but made sure to not give her any backlash, no space to move. The water slowed her wild kicking movements, not making it difficult for Booker to keep tickling her, her feet staying within reach. No, Elizabeth wasn't going anywhere. She'd either have to let go, or keep on enduring his small torture. Let go, it's easy. Accept your defeat. Acknowledge my victory. He felt her writhing against him, her body contorting in an attempt to get free, skin rubbing against skin. Anything to get free. Booker laughed pleasantly, a big smile on his face. He felt her grip on him loosening. Was she giving up? No, it didn't seem like it. She held onto him tight, and Booker reveled in the knowledge that she subconsciously considered giving up, her body wanting to let go of him in an attempt to get away from the unwanted feeling. But, her will was stronger than her body, and she clung to him. Her nails dug into his skin firmly, dragging the blood up to the surface. Hmm...Even though it hurt lightly, it was a feeling that he enjoyed during sex. A touch of fervor, driven by need and desire, digging into him, attempting to claim him. Though, all Elizabeth wanted was to claim her victory by holding onto him, refusing to give up. He enjoyed her laughter, the way she gasped for air, desperately trying to get out her curses. He found himself enjoying pushing her to the edge, make her wild, leave her breathless, tease her, laugh with her. Yeah, he had her right where he wanted. He slowed down the tickling movements momentarily, Elizabeth taking the opportunity to actually get out a sentence rather than gasped words. Oh really? Was that how she was gonna play it? No, that wouldn't work. Booker laughed at her. She was clearly bluffing, and even if she wasn't: Booker wasn't afraid of a little bite. "If you simply can't _take_  it," Booker started, brushing fingers past her sole. "then why don't you just let go?" He grinned, turning his head back in an attempt to look at her. "Hmmm?" He mumbled questioningly, the smugness in his voice audible.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker mocked her attempts to get away from him and then the man had the nerve to dismiss her threats. Fine. He can’t say she didn’t warn him. Elizabeth knew how hard she could bite…she could still remember the taste of Dr. Pettifog’s blood when her mouth had wrapped around his arm while he and another nurse tried to hold her down while they strapped her to that God awful chair. Booker couldn’t say that she didn’t warn him. So, when he sent another wave of shivers through her by stroking her feet Elizabeth rocked herself forward, squirming around as she started to laugh again. Her mouth hovered within striking distance and if she was going to actually bite him, she better move fast before she was laughing so hard she couldn’t do it.  Elizabeth moved her head with the agility and precision of an angry cobra and before either of them could blink her velvety soft lips were pressed into the spot where the neck transitioned to the shoulder. Her warmth breath briefly caressed Booker’s skin and she felt the man get goose bumps and yet he didn’t stop tickling her. She gasped as the sensation in her feet worsened and fastened her mouth onto the spot. Her smooth teeth sank into Booker’s flesh. Elizabeth could taste salt and water in her mouth. She bit him _hard_. Her teeth were merciless as they latched onto that vulnerable patch of skin increasing and increasing in pressure, but her full sensual lips and tongue were exquisitely soft and so smooth.

 **Booker DeWitt:** :  The tickling was not ceased as Elizabeth’s sharp teeth dug into his flesh instead of that of an apple. Booker let out a sharp exhale at the sudden feeling, a shudder running down his spine at the _unexpected_  physical contact of teeth in flesh. She was like a lioness biting down the neck of a giant buffalo bull in an attempt to wear it down, to bring it to its knees, the mass of muscle unable to strike back because the lioness was not within reach of his horns. It could buck and swirl, at most. But, once the lioness would fall off, it was clear who would win. He'd would get her off of him. He tickled harder, hoping to get her to laugh so that the biting would stop, but somehow his attempts became half-hearted. Honestly, it felt kind of good, in a sexual way. Mouth latched onto him, soft lips and tongue at his skin to soothe the pain, masking it with warmth. Elizabeth bit down harder since he refused to let her go, earning a grunt from Booker. Or rather, it sounded more like a _moan_. No, he couldn't take this. It was too much. Not because of the pain, not at all, but because of the _intimacy_. It went too far. She had crossed the line. To Booker, it suddenly wasn't a game anymore. It bordered on something else that he would rather not give a name. Finally, he let go of her legs, water feeling cold at the parts where his skin had been pressed into Elizabeth. She withdrew from him, her teeth no longer in his skin, but her arms still wrapped around him. Booker wasn't playing anymore. He roughly grabbed her slender wrists, keeping them above his head as he spun around, ending up with Elizabeth with her arms crossed in front of him. He let go of her as if her wrists were suddenly scorching his skin. He looked at her face, finally seeing it, his reward. Wavy hair sticking to her skin along with her blue chemise, those damned eyes of hers telling him 'I told you so'. "What the _fuck_  is wrong with you." Booker said in a normal tone of voice. No yelling. No shouting. More like wondering out aloud. He hadn't thought she would actually do it? Had she really wanted to bite down on him, rather than to let go and accept defeat? The place where she bit down throbbed comfortably as he looked at her with a look of indifference, his playfulness gone entirely.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker made a low moaning sound in the back of his throat as her teeth sunk further into his skin. Was she hurting him? Couldn’t be, Elizabeth had extracted bullets and other sharp foreign objects from his body and patched him up without anesthetic and Booker had tolerated the pain just fine. Maybe that particular spot on his body was just really sensitive? Before Elizabeth could ponder Booker’s reaction further she felt his large hands release her legs only to enclose around her tiny wrists.  He roughly lifted her arms up in the air as he spun around in the water to face her. Elizabeth felt a little rush of adrenaline being pumped through her body as her heart rate accelerated.  Something very brief flickered in Booker’s feral green eyes for half a second, but it was immediately smothered with tried and true indifference. He let go of her crossed arms as if she had just burned him and the rebellious defiance in her eyes started to fade.

What did she do wrong? Had she actually _hurt_   him? Booker’s playfulness died as he spoke, putting emphasis on the word _f_ _uck_. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if he was actually asking her a question or just making a generalized statement. Something _intense_  had just happened between them, was maybe even continuing to happen. She started to assume that he was upset with her, but his facial expression was so _controlled_  and his voice didn’t betray anything sort of feelings either. But, the words themselves were charged with unspeakable tension. It was confusing as hell. Booker DeWitt had his poker face on and Elizabeth’s mind wanted to put all the fragmented pieces together to figure out just what the hell was going on. However, her fight or flight instinct kicked into overdrive and suppressed the urge to put two and two together. All Elizabeth knew was that she had somehow stumbled into some weird quick sand situation with Booker and she had to be very careful in how she got herself out. 

Her beautiful face which he had so desperately tried to see went through a lovely and rather lively show of expressions in which her glorious blue eyes were the stars. She was a compelling sight worth struggling to see. Watching the smooth transitions in Elizabeth’s facial expressions was captivating because they were so raw, so uncensored, so sincere. The smug defiance in her face transformed into a befuddled look of confusion as she slowly treaded water. Booker’s dead pan voice and facial expression troubled her more than anything and it sent tiny tremors of uncertainty through her body that shook her to the very core.  Elizabeth looked hopelessly bewildered, like a young animal that had jumped up on a counter top that it didn’t realize it wasn’t allowed to go. Elizabeth wasn’t being deliberately sexual just accidentally. Her understanding only went as far as to realize that biting Booker had been a mistake, but she didn’t see _why_  it was so. 

“Shit. I’m sorry…I didn’t think I was actually hurting you,” Elizabeth said quietly in her own defense with that being the most obvious conclusion. How would this inexperienced girl know how much of an erogenous zone Booker’s neck was? How would she be able to tell the differences between the moans of pleasure versus the cries of pain? Elizabeth had no personal baseline to determine such things. She didn’t know any better and that was a double edged sword. It saved Booker from a lot of potential embarrassment, but it also made her very dangerous. Just because she wasn’t fully conscious of her sexuality didn’t mean that it didn’t exist, or that it wouldn’t manifest itself. The brutal truth was that Elizabeth was spirited and had an easy sensuality about her that was beautifully and frighteningly subconscious. Elizabeth was completely oblivious to the fact that she had just made Booker _moan_  with sexual pleasure, but she _did_  have the awareness now to figure it out for herself. That evil little book had broadened her imagination and introduced her into the concept that pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin. But the young woman reacted to Booker’s indifference like he had just slapped her across the face and scolded her, sending the clever and analytical part of her mind off packing. Elizabeth’s eyes briefly fell on the mark that her teeth made on Booker’s flesh, she hadn’t even broken the skin open. It didn’t matter, Elizabeth may not have been versed in feelings of pleasure, but she knew pain and discomfort in abundance and that was her association. “You were tickling me so I wasn’t really thinking. I got carried away and I’m sorry that I hurt you, okay. It won’t happen again.” Elizabeth said reassuringly. “Next time I’ll just bravely endure the giant waves of water you splash in my face,” she added with a touch of dry sarcasm to soothe any remaining tension that may or may not still be there.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker watched Elizabeth subtly go through a large range of emotion, most paired with confusion, trying to work on an answer for him. He could almost _see_  what she was thinking. I didn't know I hurt you, I didn't mean to. I thought your pain threshold was higher than that. She seemed confused with a tad of guilt, tensing up in front of him, looking at Booker's stoic face. She was unsure how to react, but eventually opened up her mouth, apologizing to him, implying that the reason why she was apologizing was for hurting him. Right, that wasn't quite it, but... It wasn't that she hurt him. Hell, Booker could take a _lot_  more than a tiny bite. She hadn't even broken his skin, he didn't end this little play because of the pain. He had ended it because it was too sexual. His neck was a very sensitive area for him, one that got him worked up easily if caressed by tongue and lips, or little nibbles, sucking...Let alone how he felt with someone biting down on it. He didn't expect Elizabeth to see her bite as sexual, she couldn't know, so he was glad that she assumed he was in pain to save him the embarrassment. And yet, at the same time, he didn't like that assumption because it was an insult for how much he could endure. "You could've just let go, you fanatic. You know I would've stopped then." Booker mumbled, getting rid of the tension by splashing some water at her face lazily. He didn't correct her assumptions. It was easier to admit to being hurt than admitting to being turned on by it.

 **Elizabeth::**   Elizabeth flinched predictably at the splash of water Booker sent in her direction, but she sighed in relief feeling the tension drain away from her. She gave him a wry closed lipped half smile, with eyebrows raised. “Well, Booker…I hate to break it to you” Elizabeth began, nonchalantly floating backwards a bit, her slender legs slowly moving up and down beneath the water. “But, you have some _serious_  competition in the pig-headed stubbornness category. “ Her smile widened just a little bit at her blunt description of the both of them. “Because I _obviously_  have to de-throne you,” Elizabeth said with a slight suggestive raise of her eyebrows placing one of her hands on her chest for dramatic embellishment.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  "Oh, you don't say?" Booker retorted sarcastically at her remark about them both being stubborn as hell. True, had Booker been in her position, he definitely wouldn't have wanted to give up either. Show them who's boss. Booker raised a dark eyebrow of his own at her dramatic claim. De-throne him, huh? Like _hell_  she was gonna. He grinned as he looked at her plotting eyes. No one beat Booker DeWitt in being hardheaded. Both father and daughter were stubborn and competitive, but only one of them could be the _best_  at it, and in Booker's eyes he was the best. Booker shook his head lightly at her, as if he was pitying her, talking to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. "Poor Elizabeth...Thinking she stands a chance at earning the Crown of Obstinacy." He smirked smugly. "Well, Elizabeth...I hate to break it to you, but you're gonna have to do a lot harder than to bite me to earn that."

 **Elizabeth::**  She found herself grinning back at Booker. Yes, this was much better. Crisis averted.  Elizabeth laughed at him when he threw her own words back in her face. “Fuck you, old man,” she shot back at him good naturedly as she moved in the water to float on her back like she didn’t have a care in the world.  “Obstinacy, you say. You’ve been reading more lately haven’t you Mr. DeWitt?” Elizabeth asked with a smirk. “I approve of this. A king _should_  have a wide vocabulary, it makes his insults all the more interesting,” Elizabeth continued in a teasing tone, lazily floating on top of the water in that X-shape formation that Booker showed her.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker grinned widely at her insult, dimples in his face visible. There was something comfortable about being insulted in a playful way. It confirmed you could teasingly get on someone's nerves, and despite their insults, there was also a tone of affection in their exclamations of disapproval. It got rid of a formal boundary, they could be what and who they wanted to be around each other, no need for small talk whatsoever. "In fact, I _have_ , Miss Elizabeth." Booker said with faked formality. "A king should live up to his crown." Booker dove under for a bit, getting used to the cold. At this point he barely even felt the biting mark, the dents slowly fading. He swam on his back underwater, beneath Elizabeth, who created a silhouette against the bright sky. Hmm... He let himself float up a little more, his hands touching her shoulderblades to notify her of his presence and not startle to her too much for what he did next. As she moved into a more vertical position in a reflex he lazily wrapped his arms around her from behind, upperarms resting on her shoulders. Not wanting to drag her down into the water with his weight he didn't lean on her too much, treading water to help them keep afloat. A hand wrapped around his wrist, making a bent circle with his arms. "Think you can challenge the king?" Booker mumbled amusedly in one of her ears, lips almost against them. Booker chuckled as she cocked her head to the side, withdrawing his head and moving over to the other ear. "I didn't think so..."

 **Elizabeth::** Booker was being delightfully pompous in his reply and Elizabeth smiled as she shut her eyes. He was the insufferable Mr. DeWitt and she was the strange little Miss Elizabeth. She heard the soft sound of Booker diving under water and Elizabeth became instantly suspicious. Whenever he was underwater while she wasn’t it always lead to some sort of torment from him; grabbing her leg, tickling her feet, pulling her under without warning. The young woman braced herself anticipating that Booker would do something rather rude to her, what followed next was a complete surprise. Elizabeth felt his hands on her shoulder blades and she briefly stiffened. Here it comes the tug down and a mouthful of water.  But, he didn’t pull her under at all. Instead he chose to comfortably wrap his arms around her and float beneath her body. Elizabeth felt warm all over, floating in Booker’s embrace. God…it felt so… _right_. To be there in his arms like this, his body lightly pressing into the back side of her own significantly smaller form.  Their considerable size difference was acutely felt by Elizabeth and she found herself marveling at it. Booker was a lean man but he was broad, and powerfully built, his one thigh alone was the thickness of her two skinny legs together, and his hands were large enough to obliterate her entire face. She felt encompassed, and more aware of how incredibly delicate and slender her body was constructed. But Elizabeth didn’t feel weak because of her size. She was as nimble as a doe and she knew her wiry strength and flexible body could allow her to escape and prance away from the man that so gently yet possessively held her to him. She found herself savoring this quiet and unexpected moment of affection, soaking up Booker’s attention like a thirsty sponge. Elizabeth could even endure his teasing in her ears, mocking her just like she had done the same with him while she was at _his_  back. She smiled softly and her voice had the same rich consistency as before. “Hmm…I wouldn’t be _too_  confident if I was you your _Majesty_. Your most loyal and insufferable subject here has been _soothed_  not discouraged.” Elizabeth replied, fully enjoying the wonderful feeling of being so close to Booker, not realizing how much she craved being held by him.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   "Huh..." Booker replied thoughtfully at her words, staring up at the blue sky as they calmly floated on their back. Soothed... Well, that wasn't entirely what he had intended, but somehow he didn't really mind. She didn't play along with his game. She didn't desire to see his face like he wanted to see hers. No, she seemed to be just fine where she was, floating in his arms. She didn't try to get away, didn't try to get him off of her like he had expected to. No, if anything, she seemed to bask in his grasp, at _ease_. Her tiny frame held in his large one, floating weightlessly in the water, skin sliding against skin, flesh bumping gently against flesh. With his long muscular arms around her she seemed even tinier than she was. It was ridiculous how much they differed in size. She definitely hadn't inherited her length from Booker, that was for sure. Yeah, she definitely took after her mother, she'd been a rather petite woman. Same eyes, too... Well proportioned, just so much _tinier_  than he was. Still, they'd been a perfect fit, the differences in their bodies accentuated by comparing them. Slender wrists pinned down by large hands easily, broad chest hunched over a small one, large member driven into a tight channel. Booker's heart sank in his chest. Gentle cupping of faces, hand sliding past his stubble, words both affectionate and arousing whispered in his ear, soft laughter, promising kisses...Yeah, at times, he still missed his wife. At this point he had probably romanticized all that he remembered about her. He didn't remember the bad, only the good. Nothing but good about the dead. Booker remained afloat with Elizabeth in his arms, closing his eyes for a bit. Yeah, just hold her... Feel her relax in your arms. That's what you want, isn't it? Keep her close. Booker opened his eyes. No, that is _not_  what he wanted. He didn't want to hold his own daughter while thinking about her mother. Sure, the physical contact soothed him, but he had to remember he was going too far. He had crossed the line of acceptable personal intimacy, and he withdrew his arms from her, giving her space, not intent on playing his little game anymore it seemed. "I'm starving." He mumbled, brushing the thoughts of shame aside. She hadn't minded, so Booker didn't make a big deal out of it. He played it off with nonchalance. And with that, he was about to head back to the shore.

 **Elizabeth::**  Booker let his long arms fall away from Elizabeth’s narrow shoulders and floated away from her. She frowned for a second until she heard him grumble that he was hungry. Well, that made perfect sense. Now, that he mentioned it Elizabeth was feeling hungry herself. It was a good time to head in and think about some dinner. “Good idea,” she readily agreed with Booker. Elizabeth turned over on her back and swam towards the edge of the lake that was the closest to her. She emerged from the water dripping wet with the sun still beating down on her back. A strong gust of wind kicked up in the air as Elizabeth planted two feet on the warm grass giving her goose bumps. Fuck you wind, the young woman thought in dismay when she felt her nipples tighten. And fuck that book. Elizabeth didn’t want to feel self-conscious, but she did. She could feel the soaking wet silk of her chemise sticking tightly to her small body, and it made fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end. Just don’t think about it, she told herself.  I’m not stark naked, and I’m not hideous either, it’s not like _he’s_  looking anyway. Still, Elizabeth found herself walking back to the house a few steps ahead of Booker. She wanted her shower so she could finally get cleaned up and get comfortable. “Taking my shower, go ahead and start dinner without me,” Elizabeth announced briskly, opening the screen door without looking back. She took the steps upstairs two at a time.

 The young woman slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, placing her hand on her chest. She could feel her heart pounding beneath her fingertips. If Elizabeth didn’t know better she could swear she was having a little panic attack, and a thousand voices in her head were screaming for her attention. Shut the fuck up, and stop trying to read into something that isn’t there, Elizabeth reprimanded herself fiercely. The young woman peeled off her chemise and lifted it over her head and tossed it to the floor half-angry. Elizabeth stepped into the shower and turned the knobs on high for hot water.  She washed herself as normal, perhaps scrubbing her skin just a little bit harder than what was usual for her. Elizabeth removed a soapy hand from her groin and saw it was tinted pink, she instinctively looked down and saw bright red streaks of blood running down her thighs. Oh, good. Her monthly visitor had arrived, not that she minded menstruating very much. Elizabeth didn’t know why she felt surprised, her body was giving her subtle signals of what it was doing all the time, but this month had been unusual; the young woman’s thoughts were far from thinking about the natural cycle her body went through.  Elizabeth finished cleaning off and wrapped a towel securely around herself and grabbed some of the strips of linen she had made for such events and quickly padded from the bathroom into her bedroom. Dark underwear was the priority and once that was tended to the young woman stood behind the doors of her wardrobe and hated the thought of putting on anything more. Elizabeth’s flesh seemed burning hot to her and her breasts were swelling and becoming tender to touch. The thought of fabric constricting her skin sounded terrible. But, she had to wear _something._  And the dilemma of comfort versus modesty reared its ugly head yet again.  In the end Elizabeth pulled on a dark, loose skirt that hit her knees and a slightly oversized button up shirt that she found in the back of her closet. Elizabeth had fucked up the size because she hadn’t slept for two days at the time she made it, but she kept it anyway.  She pulled on the white cotton fabric and buttoned it but left it untucked and rolled up the sleeves past her elbows. Elizabeth didn’t put anything else on, no chemise, no petticoat, she went with as little layers as possible to make herself comfortable but still remain covered. With a tired sigh she closed the doors of her wardrobe and softly walked back downstairs to see what chef Booker was up to.

 **Booker DeWitt::** "Sure." Was all that Booker said when she told him to go ahead without her, staring at her shoulder blades absentmindedly as he trudged after her. She sped upstairs, her cold body longing for a warm shower, he could tell by her goose bumps. Booker made his way over to the stove as he tentatively ran his fingertips over the spot between shoulder and neck. Hm...No broken blood vessels. No dents. No trace. No pain. She hadn't bitten hard enough to leave a mark. That was a mere observation that he dully noted in the same way he would check his wounds. Practical, assess the damage, objectively. He didn't think of how he had stupidly let out a noise of pleasure in reflex. He didn't think of the arousal it caused, how his body tensed. He didn't think of how he liked women to kiss, suck and bite at his neck. None of that all crossed his mind as his hand slipped away. Right, time to cook.

By the time Elizabeth came downstairs dinner was practically finished. Booker had made a stew, throwing in whatever he thought would taste nice together. Champignons, bell pepper, garlic, some potatoes, onion, meat... He was more impulsive when it came to mixing food since Elizabeth taught him how to cook. A little more adventurous, not afraid to waste food. Experimented more. Threw in some spices he didn't know the name of, only knowing he liked the scent of it, seeing if it'd fit with the taste of the food. He stirred the bubbling mixture, warm steam rising from the pot. Booker threw Elizabeth a nonchalant glance before focusing on his attention on his precious food again. He'd already set the table, and he turned off the gas. He carried the pan over to the table without a word. It smelled good, but did it _taste_  good? Only one way to find out. Booker scooped them both a portion before he went to sit down at his seat. He scooped some food on his for, pursing his lips lightly to blow at it, cooling it down before he stuffed it in his mouth, chewing carefully.

 **Elizabeth::**  Looks like Mr. DeWitt was up to throwing a stew together for them.  Elizabeth took her place at the table softly humming that one tune she heard on the radio about black velvet.  Booker briefly glanced up at her for a moment while he chewed. Following his example Elizabeth blew on her food before taking a generous bite. Mmmm! The young woman chewed and swallowed her food before generously complimenting the chef. “You did a wonderful job with this stew, Booker. See cooking isn’t so scary after all.”  The man smiled at her kind words and the both of them ate on in pleasant silence. The card game that followed wasn’t so silent, but it was still pleasant; both teasing each other playfully as they shuffled and dealt cards out to each other. Elizabeth won the first round, but Booker evened the score between them at their second game. Their third and final round was a draw and somehow that seemed like it was the perfect ending to their relatively short but eventful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading & see everyone next time! :)


	12. Social Cues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon in the city reveals to Booker how ignorant Elizabeth is to the interested looks of strangers and friends. Jonathan's attempts to court his daughter become more apparent making him uncomfortable.

**Booker DeWitt:** :  A few weeks later, they had another day in the city, both doing their own thing. Elizabeth was hanging out with her friends, and DeWitt was hanging out at bars. And, Booker had had another successful fuck, feeling relieved and significantly less pent up. Physically satiated for now, dick limp in his pants. So, with a relatively good mood, he went to go pick up Elizabeth from the library, hands stuffed in his pockets. His pace was casual, he wasn't in a hurry as he took his usual long steps. His hair was a bit messy from needy fingers running through his brown locks, but he didn't notice. He felt calm, at ease. Hell, he'd been up for another round of fucking with this particular woman, but he had no time. He had to pick Elizabeth up, who was waiting for him at this point, she might think he would've forgotten about her if he was late, and Booker didn't want that. That was one aspect why he didn't want to be late. Another point was that he didn't like Jonathan too much, clearly remembering that time when he'd subtly tried to seduce Elizabeth by gentle manipulating of her hands. Elizabeth hadn't noticed, but it hadn't escaped Booker's keen eye. He didn't enjoy Jonathan staying in her company longer than he needed to. Jonathan was an okay guy, he supposed, but Booker just didn't _like_  him. You can still have normal conversations with people or modest greetings, but that didn't mean you couldn't dislike them.

One way or another, Booker's mood subtly took a turn for the worse. Behind the large window at the library he could see them playing chess. Chess was not a game Booker was familiar with, he'd never learned it, and did not seem to have an interest in mastering the game either. Card games were more for him. Elizabeth who wore the same green pants she had when collecting amber, combined with a white tank top, was happily chewing away at her apple. She had that subtle smile on her face, the kind she had when she was winning a game. He saw her lips move, probably being witty as always, her words inaudible behind glass. And when she tossed her apple up in the air, a habit of hers, Jonathan dared to playfully snatch it mid-air. Immediately Elizabeth's body sprung into action to retrieve her juicy apple. Booker subconsciously walked a bit faster when Jonathan took a large bite from her apple, the action rubbing him the wrong way. Indirect mixture of saliva, kissing, and Elizabeth being as naive as she was probably didn't even _realize_  Jonathan attempted to rope her in. The guy teased her, holding the apple out for her, pulling it out of reach whenever she made a grab for it. It was a fun occurrence, all three of them laughing, Lauren the hardest, judging by how her shoulders shook. It all seemed innocent enough, but Booker wasn't a detective for nothing; he read between the lines. Jonathan liked Elizabeth. A lot. DeWitt felt protective of Elizabeth in that moment. In all these weeks he had gotten over the fact that she wasn't Anna. She was just Elizabeth now, but at times like these it was hard to suppress his parental instinct. He wanted to just drag her out of there, tell Jonathan to not lay a finger on Elizabeth.

Friends were fine, friends were good for her, but he didn't want one of said friends to shamelessly take advantage of her ignorance when it came to romantic advances. He was flirting with her, and Booker bet that Elizabeth didn't even know. Jonathan held the apple high up in the air, Elizabeth standing close to him and competitively reaching up without result, their bodies almost touching. But, Elizabeth had another way to get her apple back. She hit Jonathan soundly on his sternum, making him drop the apple in reflex, after which she snatched it out of the air. She took a bite of her fruit, ending their little dalliance. Booker couldn't see if she bit at the part where Jonathan had bitten, but even if not; she'd get to that part eventually now that she had claimed her food back. They all laughed it out, seemingly very content. So caught up in their game and laughter they probably hadn't even seen Booker approach by the looks of it. Booker lightly tapped against the large window with his knuckles, drawing their attention. He made short eye-contact with Elizabeth, telling her it was time to go. Feeling Jonathan's and Lauren's kind eyes on him he gave them a short nod to acknowledge them, as well as bid them goodbye. He stuffed his hand back in his pocket and waited for Elizabeth to come outside to join him. It was time to go home. Booker didn't say anything on their way back, quietly smoking a cigarette, but his good mood had been partially ruined by such a tiny little thing. He was worried Elizabeth would be taken advantage of. She may be smart, but she wasn't exactly street-wise. She wasn't used to guys, and what most of them were like, for as far as he knew. He'd make sure to keep an eye on her when he could. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling the puff of smoke languidly.

 **Elizabeth::**  Elizabeth hastily gathered up her things in her lean naked arms. It was time to go. Jonathan made a comment about time going by too fast and Elizabeth grinned at him. “Thanks for all the games you two,” she chirped at her friends before taking off ignoring all the scowls she received for running through the library. Elizabeth had received a lot of stares from people today with the way she was dressed, which wasn’t all that surprising; wearing nothing but her white tank top and a pair of fitted olive green pants like she would if she had been at home. How dare she look so scandalous forsaking the pretentious lady’s standard of dresses, petticoats, and corsets. The young woman shrugged off their stares, satisfied with herself that she hadn’t backed down out of Jonathan’s dare to go out in public dressed similar to a working man.  She had been watched her _whole_  life, her coming and goings, what she drew, when she sang, her developing naked body all documented, so Jonathan had no idea how easy it was for Elizabeth to drop polite social manners and not give two shits about what strangers thought about her.  When she emerged from the library the young woman was smiling with a couple of books in one hand resting on the salacious curve of her hip and a partially eaten apple in the other. She automatically fell in stride with Booker as they both lazily walked away from the library and into the street. Booker smoked his cigarette in silence and Elizabeth found herself bounding up to walk on any type of ledge she encountered on the street, occasionally holding out her arms for balance. The young woman in her plain, unremarkable clothes made for a riveting and _unholy_  sight. Elizabeth nimbly strutted walking along edges and ledges, sharply biting into her apple, and she hummed a tune, a low, pleasant sound coming from her throat.

Her sinewy body was illuminated in the late afternoon sunlight, spindly limbs held out for balance or left hanging by her sides, every so often the white shirt that concealed so little of the shape of her firm breasts would bunch up and show off the lower part of her hard stomach and bony hips. The woman was a delicately built and maddeningly fuckable ingenue. From windblown wavy dark hair that hit the bottom of Elizabeth’s slender neck to her brooch pinned to a black ribbon wrapped around her throat looking more like a collar than an adornment all the way down her small booted feet. Everything she did was innocent and careless, humming, giggling whenever her balance wavered, and eating an apple. And yet, the mind was either forced or coerced into the gutter at the sight of her. Elizabeth’s petite form and nonchalant devil may care attitude inspired illogical aggressiveness and greed. Take me home with you the sway of her hips whispered, pin me down and ride me hard her teeny tiny wrists demanded. Everyone stared, except Booker, who kept his gaze straight ahead, with only side long glances from his green eyes to presumably make sure she didn’t fall in her carefree antics.  But, when Elizabeth softly sang some song lyrics even Booker had to look. “Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell…” she began, her voice hitting the precise low sultry pitch that the woman who sang the song on the radio used. Elizabeth took a bite from her apple, her lower lip shiny with juice. She had scrambled on to a narrower little ledge that was slopping up and raising her higher where she could actually look down at Booker instead of up. Elizabeth raised her arms to keep her balance and Booker moved closer to her and took the books she had out of her hand so she could more easily balance herself without having to compensate for the extra weight. Elizabeth got to the “the sun is setting like molasses in the sky,” part when she heard Jonathan call for her. She half turned and saw him and Lauren moving towards her. Jonathan waved a book in the air. Elizabeth’s blue eyes narrowed. Was that her sketch book?

She felt Booker’s large strong hands completely encompass her narrow waist, helping her down from the ledge. His hands lingered there unnoticed by Elizabeth as she moved out of his grasp towards Lauren and Jonathan. Sure enough, Jonathan had her sketch book. How could she ever forget that? It was always in her pile of books, unless…

Elizabeth crossed her arms and fixed Jonathan with a suspicious look. “Okay, what did you do to it?”

Jonathan’s eyes widened, “Me? I’m just bringing your sketch book to you. Why do you assume I did something to it?”

“Uh, huh…” Elizabeth mumbled unconvinced. She signed to Lauren, “Did you see him take it?” Her friend shook her head, her pale blond hair moving as she did so. Lauren signed back, “I didn’t see him do it.” But she looked just as suspicious as Elizabeth did. Elizabeth reached for her sketchbook and Jonathan briefly pulled it out of her reach teasingly.

“Mother fucker, do you _want_  me to hit you again?” Elizabeth cursed.

Jonathan just laughed, “Hell no. You hit _fucking hard_ , girl,” he mused handing Elizabeth’s sketchbook over.

The young woman rolled her eyes, threw her apple core at him spitefully, and spun on her heel and started walking. She saw Booker turn as well and start walking away, and Elizabeth easily lengthened her stride to catch up to him, but persistent Jonathan was at her heels chatting away. Woman’s intuition compelled Lauren to step between her cousin and Elizabeth, the taller girl’s body separated the two, and she knew Jonathan wouldn’t dare step between Booker and Elizabeth. “So, are you going to tell me what you did?” Elizabeth asked, accusing him in a friendly tone.

“Elizabeth, your allegations _wound_  me,” Jonathan replied dramatically, clutching at his chest with his hand. “I’m your _friend_ … Mr. DeWitt is she always this suspicious?” the younger man asked with playful sarcasm.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  Booker wisely didn't look at Elizabeth as she climbed up and down ridges like a child would. Not growing tired, lost in her enthusiasm. He saw the people staring, knowing full well men would be gawking at her beautiful form, and women would be repulsed at the fact she was wearing pants. Booker took another drag of his cigarette, staring down a husband who walked as if he had an erection in his pants at the sight of her. Their wife noticed the behavior too, and whispered some hostile words in his ear, to which he averted his gaze, albeit reluctantly. That's right, you can admire Elizabeth from very, very far away, but the moment you want to get close you'll have me to deal with. I didn't get her out of that tower for her to fuel someone's perversions. As for the pants, well, he had inquired in the morning if she was planning to wear that to town. At home, Booker had no problem with her wearing whatever she wanted. Booker generally wasn't interested in what she wore; as long as it wasn't _too_  revealing he had no problems with it. He never complained or complimented her clothing choices. But, he was wondering if she really wanted to go out like that in public, knowing the stares she would receive. She had simply answered that it was a dare from Jonathan, and that was that. She was determined to show Jonathan just how much of a daredevil she was, it seemed. Booker hadn't said much more apart from 'whatever floats your boat' and so they had went out. She'd find out herself if it had been a good idea or not to go out dressed like that.

 He heard a crisp crunch as he looked back forward again, the image of Elizabeth biting the fruit flashing before him. It wasn't until she sung that sensual black velvet song, nailing the tone of voice perfectly. Low, smooth, but with a nice ragged edge. Peculiar how she could produce that sound from her throat so perfectly. He could almost hear the languid but strong beat of the song as she sang, the song and her singing syncing up in his mind. He subtly offered to take the books from her as she almost lost her balance, and she took him up on that offer. Hm, yeah, he could see why men were drooling over her... Booker snapped out of his thought at the familiar voice of Jonathan, exclaiming Elizabeth's name. DeWitt glanced back over his shoulder, holding the books against him. He just wanted to keep walking, not desiring to hang out with Jonathan. He waved something in the air. Had she forgotten a book? Or was it another one of those 'you should definitely read this book' tricks to get more time with her? Booker held the books pinned under his armpit as he stepped closer to Elizabeth. His large hands wrapped around her waist, lifting her up from the ledge. It was a little too high to jump from in his opinion. He gently put her down, noticing his hands lingering just a tad too long. Just to make sure she had her balance, or so he told himself as she walked out of his gentle grasp.

DeWitt quietly observed the conversation, Lauren's sign language was  lost on him, but her body language wasn't. The two girls gave him an unforgiving look, while Jonathan pretended to be innocence itself. Booker's mood was anything but good at another round of playful chasing presented itself momentarily, but they didn't go in on it too far. Maybe because he was here? Nah, probably not, they could care less if Booker was around or not, they barely even acknowledged him, which didn't really surprise or bother him. Jonathan and Lauren were Elizabeth's friends, not Booker's. He was merely the fifth wheel on the wagon. He didn't like the way Jonathan talked to her, neither did he like Elizabeth's reaction somehow. Insulting Jonathan, throwing the remnants of her apple at him... In a way, she was only challenging him. Make him try harder instead of making him give up. She went along with it, and she didn't even know it. Playful banter.

Booker felt a little more relieved when Elizabeth spun around, ready to leave, so he started walking. However, Jonathan was as persistent as a fly, not knowing when to leave them be. Or rather, when to leave _Elizabeth_  be. Booker didn't look at Jonathan as the guy addressed him, taking a tight-lipped drag of his cigarette. "She has a tendency to call people out on their bullshit, yes." Booker replied bluntly with a faked air of nonchalance, looking at him from the corners of his green eyes as he kept walking.

 **Elizabeth::** Jonathan walked just a little bit ahead of them with his body slightly turned, so he wouldn’t trip over himself but he remained within Elizabeth’s line of sight. He held his hands in the air as a sign of surrender.

“Alright, alright…I _may_  have drawn in your sketch book,” the young man admitted with a boyish grin the light making his sandy hair look more like gold.

Elizabeth raised both of her eyebrows, “Really, now? So, you weren’t intently reading that giant tome of Shakespeare’s plays then were you?” The young woman inquired looking amused.

“Oh, I was,” Jonathan responded to her question, effortlessly shrugging his shoulders. “It’s called multi-tasking, Elizabeth,” he continued teasingly with a smirk.

Elizabeth flashed him a fake smile, “Oh, _fuck_  you, you pretentious asshole. You’re just sore because I finally kicked your ass in chess,” she retorted.

“I take major offense to that statement. It’s about _damn_  time you beat me,” those were the words that came out of the young man’s mouth, but they were _not_  the words that he signed to her.

Elizabeth watched his hands move, initiating a more blunt and yet private conversation. “I unfortunately played really shitty today. You’re rather…distracting in those pants.” That was the message that Jonathan signed to her.

Elizabeth just shook her head “excuses, excuses,” she said out loud, then signed back at him. “Hey, my attire was _your_  idea. It’s your own damn fault if it backfired on you,” her small hands went into a flurry of gestures with her sketch book tucked underneath one of her arms.

“Very true,” Jonathan spoke. Then he signed, “And if I have to lose well, better to be slayed by a beautiful woman.”

Elizabeth shrugged off the young man’s compliment, “whatever let’s you sleep at night,” she replied aloud with an attitude.

“I’m being serious here. Do you even know how gorgeous you are? You could make a paper bag look fashionable,” Jonathan signed with a smile.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and spoke, “well…thanks,” color briefly blushing her across her cheeks. Then she quickly signed back, “you’re the first person that’s ever told me that.”

“Are you serious?!” Jonathan exclaimed out loud, his gray eyes widening. 

“Yeah…” Elizabeth mumbled slowly feeling terribly awkward.

“Well, that is a _tragedy_. And you don’t have to thank me. I’m just calling it like it is.” He spoke, his normally cheerful expression becoming more serious.

Fuck. Elizabeth didn’t know what to say to that. But, thankfully Lauren intervened, rapidly signing “okay, Romeo, we need to let these people get home. They don’t want to hear you blather on all damn night.” The three of them laughed a little, and with one final good-bye, Elizabeth’s friends fell back leaving her alone with Booker once again as they strolled the city streets heading for home.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker silently wondered what the hell Jonathan had drawn in her sketchbook. Hell, Booker didn't even knew what _Elizabeth_  drew in her sketchbook. He knew she was pretty decent when it came to art, vividly remembering the painted depictions of the Eiffel Tower, but she had never really shown him what she was working on, keeping her sketchbook to herself. The conversation fell silent, or at least, to Booker it seemed that way. Green half-closed eyes were fixed upon the quick hand-movements they made. Yeah, Elizabeth had mastered that sign language quite quickly, like with everything she seemed to do. Booker didn't _mind_  them talking in sign language, it was considerate for Lauren who otherwise wouldn't get some parts of the conversation. DeWitt was simply left in the dark, only being able to read their expressions. But, Booker wasn't stupid, and he was able to put together a vague picture by the snippets of verbal conversation. 'Excuses excuses' was about the chess game Jonathan had lost, he knew as much, the guy thinking up excuses for why he had lost, not keen on admitting his loss gracefully. He assumed 'whatever lets you sleep at night' was another reply to another excuse of Jonathan for losing, unknowingly to Booker an excuse integrated with a compliment.

Booker exhaled smoke, feeling it rush past his tongue as he stared forward, looking at them from the corners of his eyes. Her word of thanks didn't really fit into Booker's view on the conversation. What was she thanking him for? It didn't fit. To gain some more knowledge on the subject he turned his head subtly to the side, reading them better with their fingers quickly moving. When they spoke the last part of their conversation Booker got a better grip on it. He didn't know how to read sign language, but he did know how to read people. And, when using sign language, people tended to be a tad more expressive, making it easier for Booker to decipher the gist of it. Jonathan was flirting with Elizabeth, complimenting her, making her _blush_ , her pale skin unable to conceal the blood rushing up to her face. Booker didn't like it one bit. Jonathan was out to seduce her, he knew that much. But did Elizabeth know? The three of them laughed together, making Booker feel like they were laughing about _him_ , though he knew that wasn't the case. They bid them goodbye, Booker lazily raising his hand as a last greeting before stuffing it back in his pocket, rolling his cigarette in his mouth. He glanced back over his shoulder, briefly locking eyes with Jonathan that seemed to have the same idea. Both men looked back forward again at that. Booker huffed out some smoke. He was curious about what Jonathan had signed to her exactly to make her so flushed, and what Elizabeth had signed back to him that made him go 'are you serious!?". But, he chose not to ask. He respected her privacy. If she didn't feel like sharing on her own, then he wouldn't ask. Instead, he asked something else. "So what'd he draw in that little book of yours?" He asked, feeling calmer now that the preying boy wasn't so near, glancing at the sketchbook underneath her arm.

 **Elizabeth::**  She looked up at Booker at his question. “Hmm, I have no idea. But, let’s find out shall we,” Elizabeth replied with a little sarcastic drama. Elizabeth took out the sketch book from underneath her arm. She opened it and her fingers flew over the pages at rapid speed looking for what wasn’t hers. Wait…there. Elizabeth flipped past a page that was heavily shaded and her fingers stopped. The young woman turned the page back and was stunned. Jonathan was really gifted when it came drawing it was another thing that Elizabeth had in common with him, and she was a little speechless at the image in her sketch book. It was a gorgeous rendering of Elizabeth and Lauren playing chess together. In an afternoon the young man had not only captured their likenesses but he got the essence of their individual personalities as well. The marks were spot on and effortless. Elizabeth was moved and couldn’t stop staring at the drawing. The wispiness of Lauren’s hair, and the sensual curve of Elizabeth’s back was all faithfully recorded. “Holy shit,” the young woman murmured with a soft smile. She didn’t keep Booker very long in suspense, she stepped closer to him and presented the image to him interested in seeing his reaction.

 **Booker DeWitt::**  Seeing her reaction Booker instantly grew more curious as to what Jonathan had drawn in her sketchbook. What was it? Booker took the sketchbook from her, taking a closer look. He subtly raised both of his eyebrows. Damn, that guy was quite the artist, wasn't he? It was really well made, Booker couldn't deny that. It looked amazing, he had really captured them on paper. Comfortable atmosphere, inviting shading... But, as beautiful as the piece was, it bothered him as well. This drawing right here proved that Jonathan must've been staring at her all afternoon, taking his time drawing. He was showing off, trying to impress Elizabeth, and he had _succeeded_. "Decent piece." Booker mumbled, handing her the sketchbook back. He glanced at her as she took it from him, looking at it once more making at apparent she was in awe of the piece. Jonathan was someone that like her, seemed to have a great love for art. Booker couldn't compete with that. He was mildly appreciative of art, but couldn't draw much himself. Hell, he didn't even know when he had last drawn. Too long ago. "Doesn't it bother you?" Booker asked, earning a curious glance from Elizabeth as if she didn't understand why it would possibly bother her. "Him staring at you all day." Booker elaborated, letting out another puff of smoke.

 **Elizabeth::**  Decent? Was that _all_  Booker had to say? Damn and Elizabeth thought that _she_  was the perfectionist when it came to art. Bother me? What the hell was going on in Booker’s head? But, the man quickly clarified the meaning of his peculiar question. Staring at me? Well, how the else is he going to draw me? Elizabeth looked at Booker still a bit mystified by what he was asking. “No. Why should that bother me?” she replied with a question of her own.  “How the hell is he supposed to draw if he doesn’t look? That’s what artists do. They stare at shit and draw it, and they are better for it too! The mind can mess you up and play tricks on you when you try to render something. Thoughts get in the way, and you wind up making mistakes because you over think it and you don’t actually _see_  what’s in front of you.” The young woman continued, “The only way you can faithfully draw something without looking at it is if you’ve drawn it over and over again so many times you can do it in your sleep. Here,” Elizabeth quickly flipped back through some pages of her sketch book before she found the one she wanted. She showed Booker a page that had two drawings on it of the rose encased in amber that Elizabeth had made. Both were lovely images, but unlike Jonathan’s tight precise lines, Elizabeth’s style was sensitive but it was looser and had a certain frantic urgency to her marks and lines. “The one on the left is from memory, the one on the right drawn by looking at it. Both images aren’t bad but see how much more accurate the one on the right is in comparison to the one on the left.”

 **Booker DeWitt::**   The man looked at the page of roses she showed him. "Yeah, I get that." Booker answered her, but it wasn't his point. He understood you had to look at something in order to see how it worked, how it flowed, how everything connected. He wasn't an artist at all, but he got it. "That's not what I mean though." He started, taking another drag. "He's _looking_  at you for a significant amount of time. Without permission." He shook his head lightly, once he saw her look. No, this talk didn't get through to her. She didn't understand social boundaries like that. Didn't understand implications and social cues. "Look, I understand your...view on privacy is a bit skewed, but you don't gawk at someone like that without them knowing. Did you see how much more details he added when drawing you, compared to Lauren?" He asked her, rolling the cigarette in his mouth. Then again, this whole conversation could be lost on her. He was talking to a girl who had been watched all her life. And hypothetically she wouldn't even mind Comstock jerking off at the sight of her, what made Booker think she would mind being gawked at by Jonathan? No, he should've kept his mouth shut, this wasn't going anywhere. He shook his head. "Forget it, you don't get it."

 **Elizabeth::**    Elizabeth tried to understand where Booker was coming from. Honestly, she really did. But, for a girl that was watched all her life and had people throw her stark naked into a tub filled with ice cold water as part of torture she had lost most of her senses for privacy and certain social boundaries. In order to get through very terrible situations she never cared what people did in terms of looking or thinking about her, just as long as they kept their hands off her she was fine. She frowned when Booker told her to forget about what he said. Elizabeth lightly touched Booker’s arm with the back of her hand, gazing up at him with her blue eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t understand,” she spoke quite sincerely. “I wish I did, but my mind just can’t connect all the dots.” Her lips looked so soft and full as the corners of her mouth turned down as they slowly walked side by side. Booker gave her what Elizabeth thought was a long considering look taking a long drag from his cigarette. She briefly rested her head against the man’s arm, a little affectionate bump of her forehead into his lean muscular limb. “But, that’s what I have you for.” Elizabeth added with a wistful smile.

 **Booker DeWitt::**   Booker looked her in the eyes as she softly touched him, apologizing for her lack of understanding on this subject. And it was difficult to explain, too. It wasn't a simply sum of things. It was more intuitive, going by gut. Something you could sense. Social cues that you simply had to learn. Grow up with it, understand them. Elizabeth hadn't had that. For example, Booker thought she was being incredibly nosy when they'd first met. Do you have a wife? How old are you? Why did your employers send _you_? She simply hadn't known those weren't questions you asked someone so soon and to the point. Growing up alone that wasn't much of a surprise. She couldn't help it. She lived a sheltered life, he shouldn't expect her to understand social cues like he did. He took a long drag of his cigarette, feeling her head bump into him dejectedly but affectionate. "Hm-hmm." Booker mumbled reassuringly at her words. She was right. That's what he was for. He'd help her through it. He'd keep an eye on her, make sure she was alright. And, right now, that came down to keeping an eye on Jonathan. Make sure his hands stayed right where they were; far away from Elizabeth. "You'll be fine." He gave her a decent pat on the shoulder closest to him before stuffing his hand in his pocket.

 **Elizabeth::**   Booker’s large hand patted Elizabeth’s tiny shoulder and he gave her kind reassuring words that she would be okay. She loosely linked her slender arm through the space that Booker created with his hand in his pocket and smiled at him. “I know,” the young woman stated confidently; and so the two of them walked home in relatively comfortable silence, the paved paths of the city transitioning to out of the way dirt or gravel roads. By the time their modest home finally came into view Booker and Elizabeth both had very subtle little smiles of relief play across their faces. It was a joy to be truly isolated in their own little world again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading & hope everyone enjoyed the update!

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! What a explosive beginning!  
>  **We** sincerely hope everyone enjoyed their first taste of Booker  & Elizabeth's synergy with one another. There is a long and exciting journey ahead! ;D 
> 
> *song on the radio was Lana Del Rey's, "Summertime Sadness"*


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